Mark of War
by potterfreak
Summary: Not your ordinary Alternate Character story. This one shines! Check out the reviews! A cold Halloween night, a silver dagger, masked men like phantoms in the dark, a scream for mercy and the Dark Mark dripping blood. Was it only a dream, Harry?
1. The Will

Welcome to my first venture in novel writing. Thank you for reading it. Please R./R. Within these pages you will read about an unlikely heroine, a malicious enemy, unspeakable acts of violence, an unexpected love, unendurable heartache, and hopefully a bit of humor. The action takes place within the timeline of the fifth book (I'm counting the days until it's finally here!). Remus Lupin is a major player here, as well as Sirius Black. And Moody's back as DADA professor. What belongs to Rowling is easily recognizable. The rest is mine.  
  
Chapter one: The Will  
  
Somewhere in America, a British solicitor dropped a thick green file on a fold-up table. The table sat in the middle of a tidy kitchen. A woman with a nasty scowl on her face hovered over a sink full of soapy water nearby. She threw disgusted looks across the room at her husband who sat at the table in a high-backed chair that was badly in need of a new coat of paint.  
  
A few feet to his side, in an identical chair, sat a woman a few years younger than he, and enough like him to obviously be his sister. He threw disgruntled looks at her, as if relaying his wife's displeasure. The sister did her best to maintain a certain aloofness, giving her attention to the fat green folder and a large black trunk that sat on the floor beneath the table-this the solicitor had brought as well.  
  
The solicitor-Mr. Orcrist-peeled back the top flap of the folder and sat, perching a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses on his long, thin nose, then sliding his chair forward with a screech over the cheap linoleum tile.  
  
"Miss Stewart, Mr. Stewart," he said, nodding to each in turn, "I wish to express my deepest sympathies at your father's passing. I am honored to have had the opportunity to help my old friend put his affairs in order."  
  
Mr. Stewart nodded curtly and glared toward his sister who remained perfectly still, her eyes still fixed on the folder. Mr. Orcrist waited for a moment, his gaze focused upon Miss Stewart, waiting for a response. But there was none, so he picked up the document at the top of the file and began to read.  
  
"I, Lorenzo Arriman Stewart, being of sound mind and body. . ."  
  
***********  
  
"A TRUNK! That old Bastard left me a lousy trunk?!" Miss Stewart was standing now, the will, which had been snatched from Mr. Orcrist's hand waving angrily in his face.  
  
"And its contents, Miss Stewart," he replied calmly.  
  
"I don't suppose it contains a load of cash?"  
  
"No, Miss Stewart, I assure you it contains no money."  
  
Mr. Stewart, still sitting in his chair, chuckled quietly with his hand over his mouth, doing his best to suppress a fit of laughter. He and his wife, it seemed, had just inherited everything of worth their father had owned-the house and furniture, the money, the investments.  
  
Miss Stewart rounded on him. "Shut up, Allan!" she spat.  
  
But that was all it took to break his restraint, and he laughed out loud. "I guess the old man decided you'd stolen enough from him, Roxanne." The look of triumph on his face was more than she could take.  
  
"SHUT UP!" she yelled louder, her chair squealing over the floor as she stood, the back of her hand raised over her shoulder poised to strike. But the motion was unnecessary. Allan's chair tipped over and spilled him onto the linoleum. He scrambled up, hurling expletives and storming towards her with clenched fists.  
  
His previously silent wife flew to intercept him. She placed one hand roughly on Allan's chest, and with the other she pointed a threatening finger close to his chin. "Leave her alone, Allan!" she hissed.  
  
"You saw what she did!" he spat, gesturing wildly at the still- unrighted chair.  
  
"I didn't see anything. She never touched you-or the chair. You've gotten what you wanted. You won. It's all yours. Now leave her alone!" She stared him down, feet planted firmly on the floor, her jaw set in determination. A thick, tense silence hung over the room.  
  
"Miss Stewart," said Mr. Orcrist, "perhaps you should let me help you out with your trunk." And he grasped one trunk handle, looked her straight in the eye and nodded slightly. Taking the hint, Roxanne gripped the other handle and strode for the door, dragging the solicitor along behind.  
  
It wasn't until they'd reached her car that she had calmed down enough to realize that the trunk was not very heavy. In fact it was extraordinarily light; lighter than it seemed it should have been even if it had been empty. Puzzled she asked, "Is there anything in there?" as she hoisted it easily into her trunk.  
  
"Oh, yes. I assure you it is quite full."  
  
"With what, helium?"  
  
Laughing, Mr. Orcrist handed her a large manila envelope he'd retrieved from his briefcase. "Take this. There's a letter from your father in there. It will make everything quite clear." And extending his hand, which she shook lightly, he bid her good day. 


	2. The Letter

CHAPTER TWO: The Letter  
  
The motel, with a vacancy sign blinking hopefully at the edge of the highway, was a place to sleep, nothing more. The pool was empty, the bottom blanketed with years of fallen rotting leaves. The "continental breakfast" consisted of a loaf of almost-stale bread and a pot of coffee that was obviously only freshened when it was empty. The stained carpets and bedspreads spoke, and smelled, of an uncounted number of others who had stayed here since last they had been cleaned.  
  
In the light of the bedside lamp-the only light in the room that worked- Roxanne sat cross-legged on the bed, the trunk (still locked tight) in front of her, a bottle of beer in one hand, and the manila envelope in the other. She stared at the envelope, hesitating to open it-she'd had enough bad news for one day. She'd rather avoid more. Despite her show of shock and disappointment at the reading of the will, she knew she didn't deserve anything. Once in a while she felt a stab of guilt at her abominable behavior-she'd begged for, demanded, and gotten plenty of her father's money. Each time she'd gotten into trouble he had, with sagging shoulders and great sighs of exasperation, bailed her out (literally on more than one occasion).  
  
But she quickly swallowed her guilt and eased smoothly back into her familiar attitude of selfishness and disdain for her loathsome family-a brother who had detested her for as long as she could remember, a father whose attentions had been focused on that brother, and a long-dead mother who had become little more than a dull yearning ache. It had been then, when her mother was still alive, when she was a child, that Roxanne had last felt wanted, had last had a guiding beacon that lit her way through the confusion of growing up a freak.  
  
She'd even had a close relationship with her father then. They'd play chess almost daily, he'd read her fantastic stories, teach her Latin, and share his knowledge of the stars with her. But everything changed when, at 10, her mother died suddenly. Then her oddness seemed to glare ever brighter for all to see, and to mock. She'd found no peers and few friends. Her teenage years were unbearably isolated. Her father seemed at best unsympathetic-at worst completely ignorant. The one time he'd seemed to care was when he'd forced her to enroll in Latin Club and Chess Club in an effort to keep her out of trouble-"Yeah, that's it Dad. Throw the freak to the freaks and see if she can figure out how to be normal." But he always responded when she asked for money, as if throwing it at her would eventually make her go away. So she did everything she could to get him to respond, continually getting into trouble and begging him to bail her out, which he always did.  
  
But now, well, her lifeline had snapped. There was no one to take her lashes for her. Allan was hopeless-he detested her too much to even consider throwing her so much as a dime. All her hopes lay in that trunk, and its prospects seemed fairly bleak.  
  
Taking a long draught of beer she set the bottle atop the trunk and finally opened the envelope. She turned it up and poured out the contents-a small silver key, a sheaf of papers folded and sealed with a large blotch of red wax, and a smoothly polished black stick. Roxanne immediately picked up the key and pointed it at the trunk, but it quickly became obvious that the key was much too small. Next, she picked up the stick, holding it between the tips of her index fingers. It was about 10 inches long, dark and shiny, tapered, and finely carved with snake-like figures and an obvious handle. Here she spotted a small silver medallion etched with "L.A.Stewart." Trying to imagine what it could possibly be for, she gripped the handle.  
  
She let out a small cry and dropped it on the bedspread. The handle had become unbearably hot as she held it, as if it were a branding iron. She expected her hand to show an ugly burn, but the palm was clear and cool. She stared at it, wide-eyed, puzzled. Though now the wand lay quietly in the lamplight, she felt as if it held life, some tenuously concealed power that felt at once frightening and familiar.  
  
Taking the bottle from the trunk she drank again, draining it. Then, without taking her eyes from the stick, she reached for another bottle from the bedside table, opened it and sipped the cold beer. She reached out hesitantly to touch the stick, changed her mind and, snatching up the sheaf of papers instead, backed across the room to the green-cushioned chair in the corner.  
  
"I've been drinking too much," she said aloud, glancing at the half-dozen brown bottles perched here and there throughout the room. Shaking her head and vowing to order a pot of coffee from the front desk, she cracked the wax seal and opened the papers.  
  
A large parchment envelope spilled into her lap. Its faded green ink clearly bore her name, and an address from long ago. The back of the envelope bore a large seal of purple wax, faded and cracked with age, stamped with a large ornate 'H.'  
  
Her curiosity urged her to open the envelope, but her experience with the stick taught her caution, and she turned to the papers in her hand instead.  
  
It was a letter, handwritten in her father's small, neat script.  
  
My Dearest Roxanne,  
  
("My Dearest?" It was a phrase she hadn't heard from him in a very long time.)  
  
I regret having pulled the rug out from under your feet-but it seemed the only way to save you.  
  
You are reading this because I am dead. You've seen your Hogwart's letter then. I trust you haven't opened it yet. But, if you have, what I am about to tell you won't come as quite so large a shock.  
  
I am a wizard. . .  
  
("A wizard?" she breathed.)  
  
I am a wizard, as Merlin and Gandalf whose stories I told you often as a child. I was born to a wizard family, attended a wizard school, and lived a wizard's life-until I met your mother. I left it all behind for her. The idea of losing her over who I was I could not bear. So I locked away all tokens of my life as a wizard, left them in England, and came to America with her.  
  
I was confident with my decision-until you were born. Moments after your birth I held you in my arms, and you looked back at me with "old eyes"- eyes that knew me for what I was. Only a child gifted with magic has eyes like that. Your brother Allan failed to inherit even so much as a magic hair on his head.  
  
("Well, that's obvious," Roxanne snorted.)  
  
I realized that I held a young wizardess, and that changed everything.  
  
I began planning and preparing for the inevitable day when I would risk losing the love of my life for the happiness of my daughter.  
  
But, as so often happens in life, circumstances interfered with my plans. Your mother died. A year later your Hogwart's letter arrived inviting you to attend the wizard school there. And I knew that what I wanted for you did not agree with what I knew must be done. My desires to give my daughter an opportunity to find her place in the world were exterminated by my obligation to provide some semblance of normalcy for my muggle son. Allan would never have been able to adjust.  
  
(Pausing to wonder what 'muggle' meant, Roxanne read on:)  
  
So, I hid your Hogwart's letter, and despaired. I did my best to teach Allan life in the muggle world-although I never felt I was doing it quite right. Still, I believe he turned out adequately. But in my struggle to do for Allan, I'm afraid I neglected you. I was too ashamed to look at you some days, knowing what I had taken from you.  
  
As you grew and became aware, painfully aware, of your uniqueness, my despair deepened and I turned away from you. I justified it in my mind by reasoning that you would become wiser and stronger for your hardships. But the opposite became true. In your confusion and anger you fed upon my guilt, as well as my money, and became weaker and more foolish.  
  
And so, I have left you. I, as most wizards do, left at a time of my own choosing-but only after planning and preparing for you once more.  
  
I have contacted the headmaster at Hogwart's, Albus Dumbledore-he was a teacher when I was a student there. He has agreed to take you on as a student, beginning immediately.  
  
I'm afraid you don't have much time to decide. Mr. Orcrist will wait for you at the airport in the morning to escort you to England.  
  
If you decide to stay in America, Mr. Orcrist is instructed to pay off all your debts, and that is the last help I will be able to provide for you.  
  
If you do find yourself at the airport, go with Mr. Orcrist and accept your place in the wizard world. I cannot guarantee that you will succeed-that will be up to you. But for the first time in your life you will be among your own kind. As to happiness-I can't guarantee that for you either. You will have to make your own way and find it for yourself. But you will not find it where you are headed now-certainly not in a filthy motel room, or in that next bottle of beer.  
  
(Roxanne started, spluttering and choking on her last mouthful of beer. The tiny hairs along her spine sprang up and a chill ran down her back. It was like he was there talking to her, in his stiff British accent. But how? She set the bottle on the floor, wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and continued, more eagerly now.)  
  
On to business then?  
  
You have no doubt discovered my old wand and the key to my trunk. I don't know if the wand will function for you-a wand has almost a life of its own and chooses the wizard to whom it will belong. When I first tried the wand as a lad in a wand shop in Hungary, it felt as though my hand were on fire. I was declared 'chosen' and the wand became mine. Although wrought by dark wizards for dark purposes, the wand served me faithfully in my honest and honorable studies at Hogwarts-and beyond. I was quite a disappointment to my parents, purveyors of the dark arts themselves. I don't think they ever truly forgave me for being sorted into Hufflepuff.  
  
(Roxanne felt she had just read something written in a foreign language. But the letter offered no explanation. She supposed she'd have to meet Mr. Orcrist at the airport if she were to ever find out what it all meant.)  
  
Take the wand firmly in your writing hand.  
  
(She'd done that, and experienced something very like what her father had described when he had received the wand.)  
  
If nothing happens, it is likely the wand will not function for you. But no matter, the trunk can wait until you reach London.  
  
If something unusual does happen, the wand is yours. Use it well. And for starters, we'll get that trunk open. Point the wand at the key and say "Engorgio." If all goes well, the key should grow to its original size and you will be able to unlock the trunk.  
  
Roxanne hesitated before stepping reluctantly across the room and picking up the wand again. This time it felt merely warm in her grip. She laid the letter atop the trunk and scanned it again to be sure she remembered the wording of the spell. Then, with a skeptical shake of the head and a sigh, she pointed the wand at the key.  
  
"ENGORGIO!"  
  
Unfortunately her aim was lacking and instead of the key, the bed instantly grew to twice its normal size, knocking her off her feet and sending the wand clattering against the dresser. It was several seconds before she realized her mouth was hanging open. Clamping her jaw shut, determined now, she retrieved the wand. The bed was now nearly as high as her armpits and it took some climbing to get back up to where the key lay, nearly in the middle of the bed and very tiny-looking against the expanse of the filthy bedspread.  
  
'If I miss this time I'll be squashed against the ceiling,' she thought. So, placing the tip of the wand carefully on the widest part of the key, she said the word again. This time the key grew and her father's initials could now be seen clearly etched into the silver. Snatching up the key and sweeping the letter aside, still hoping that the trunk really was full of money, she fumbled with the lock, her hands trembling, and turned the key. The lock snapped neatly open and the lid lifted easily with a faint growl from long-unused hinges. Indeed there was no money. And indeed it was full.  
  
On top of a deep soft layer of black cloth lay an airline ticket, one way, to Heathrow airport. The flight, she noted, was scheduled to leave at 8 a.m. There was also a passport, complete with unflattering passport picture. She'd never applied for a passport, let alone had her picture taken. It wasn't some old picture her father had dug out of a drawer. It was recent. It was as if it had been taken yesterday, right down to the short sun-bleached hair and the tattoo of an old-English lion she'd had done on her collarbone.  
  
Still puzzling over what kind of magic he'd used to get her picture-and signature-into the passport, she began digging through the objects in the trunk. Pulling back the black fabric (which turned out to be several robes and a long hooded wool cloak) she found a large round pewter cauldron filled with bottles and vials, several quill pens and bottles of ink, a large roll of parchment paper, and other items she figured must be wizarding gear. Tucked in at the side was a large musty-smelling book entitled "A History of Magic." There was a note sticking out of the top. It read: "A little something to read on the plane."  
  
"A little something?" she said, hefting the book in her hands.  
  
Next to the book, she found a small black box, inlaid with silver snakes, each with a tiny emerald eye. It contained a set of chessmen, intricately carved, with sharp, threatening looking edges, from gleaming black stone. They looked very much alive, though they did not move. She fingered them for a few moments, remembering the days when her father had challenged her at a very young age, teaching her the intricacies of the game until she had become a young master in her own right. Her father remained the only person to ever have beaten her. That was along time ago.  
  
Looking at her watch, she realized that she had only a few short hours before she would have to leave for the airport--still an hour away by highway in Great Falls. She dumped everything back into the trunk, dressed, and packed her few belongings into her small duffle bag. The wind of a late spring storm yawned at the windows-a warm restless wind. She picked up her open beer, and sat in the chair again, staring at the ticket, thinking, weighing her options.  
  
Finally, with a resolute nod of the head she walked outside into the wind and held the bottle to the sky.  
  
"OK, Dad!" she called into the dark night. "You're on!" 


	3. London

CHAPTER THREE: London  
  
Roxanne woke early, the just-rising sun glaring annoyingly in her eyes through the windshield of her car. She'd slept a few uncomfortable hours in the reclined front seat, parked in the long-term parking lot at the airport. She'd decided it would be best to slip away into the night, to avoid answering any awkward questions about the enormous bed in her motel room. There'd been no mention of how to reverse the 'engorgio' spell in her father's letter. So she'd left and reached the airport with five hours still to wait before the flight left.  
  
Now, with the sun freeing itself from the horizon and the air still chill, she lurched drowsily out the door, stretched, yawned and rubbed her eyes. Summer was well under way. The day would be hot and clear, but the morning, as most mornings were in Montana, was cold. She pulled the fleece collar of her jacket up around her ears and fumbled for the keys in her pocket. A loud popping noise behind her made her jump and she spun around to find Mr. Orcrist, looking as if he had been standing there all along.  
  
"Good morning Roxanne," he said looking at his watch. "Shall we be on our way then?"  
  
Roxanne dropped her keys and stammered, "Wh- where did you come from?"  
  
"I apparated, of course. Did you expect me to fly in on my broom?" he answered smiling broadly.  
  
"You have a br-broom? I thought that was a witch thing."  
  
"Another muggle misperception," he sighed. "I'm afraid it's rather a long walk to the terminal from here. Can I help you carry your things?" he asked, shifting his small travel bag higher on his shoulder.  
  
"Now wait," she said, realization dawning. "Why can't we just apparate to the terminal? For that matter why not all the way to London?"  
  
Retrieving her carry-on bag from the back seat and helping her with her trunk he replied, "You're not allowed yet. You've got a lot to learn before you can start popping all over the world, the least of which how to manage a 'reducio' spell. Did you miss the key?" He laughed at her shocked expression. "Don't worry. I took care of the bed for you."  
  
**********  
  
The flight was long-very long for Mr. Orcrist who was peppered with whispered questions for hour upon hour. Arriving at Heathrow they hailed a cab and drove into London. Still asking questions, Roxanne hardly noticed when Mr. Orcrist asked the driver to pull over and paid the fare. And kept asking as he unloaded their bags and set them on the sidewalk in front of an unremarkable door in a long row of shops. Finally he grasped her shoulders.  
  
"Miss Stewart," he said rolling his eyes, "enough questions." Then reaching for the door and opening it before her, smiling, he said "Welcome to the wizard world."  
  
She looked at him, then the door with a bewildered expression, then stepped through into a dimly lit tavern that was unlike any that Roxanne had ever seen in America, and-she guessed correctly-unlike your average English pub. She gaped stupidly at the crowd of robe-clad figures milling about, ordering drinks, laughing, whispering in tightly huddled groups.  
  
"Mr. Orcrist!" called a man from behind the bar. "Is this our American friend?"  
  
"It is indeed, Tom," Mr. Orcrist called back. "Have you still got a spot for her?"  
  
"Of course. Hildie and I have been looking forward to it."  
  
"Roxanne, this is Tom, the owner of this establishment." He pulled Roxanne forward by the elbow. "Tom's manned the bar here for as long as I can remember. He served more than a few drinks to your father and I-before Lorenzo left for America anyway."  
  
"Sorry to hear about your dad, my dear," said Tom, extending his hand over the bar.  
  
"Er, thanks," she said, grasping his hand limply, still gawking at the crowd.  
  
"Roxanne," interrupted Mr. Orcrist, "I've got business to attend to. I've been away far too long-bloody muggle travel. I'm leaving you in Tom's care. I told him you'd be perfectly happy," he said eyeing her meaningfully, "to work for your keep for a few days, until Hagrid can come for you."  
  
Roxanne nodded numbly, not really registering what he'd said for a few moments.  
  
"Wait a minute," she said, snapping back to attention. "What do you mean, 'work?'"  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't get much of a chance to tell you. I was a little busy answering question-all the way across the Atlantic," Mr. Orcrist smirked. "You'll be best off staying here. But you'll have to wait tables, to earn your room and board. It'll only be for a week or so. And if you pay attention you'll be able to learn a fair bit of magic. Oh, nearly forgot," and he reached into an inside pocket of his coat pulling out a small leather pouch, "you'll need this when Hagrid arrives. It's for your school supplies." He reached out to drop it into her hand, then thinking better of it, "On second thought, I'll leave it with Tom." He leaned in close and whispered "We can't have you drinking it all away, now can we?"  
  
He handed the pouch to Tom as Roxanne shot him a nasty look. He nodded, smiled and turned for the door.  
  
"Right this way," said Tom picking up her trunk. "I'll show you to your room."  
  
**********  
  
At last Roxanne's days as a slacker were paying off-she'd had plenty of experience waiting tables as it was one of few jobs for which she was qualified. She eased quickly into the work and listened and learned at every opportunity. Only a few customers were annoyed at her child-like curiosity:  
  
"Excuse me, is there anything significant about the color of your robes? Pardon me, I was wondering if you could tell me where you got your wand? I'm sorry, could you show me how you did that?"  
  
She showed a knack for learning quickly and soon had a brood of mother hens hovering around the Leaky Cauldron giving her tips and quick charms lessons, recommending and even lending her books. Before long she was making good money, (Tom allowed her to keep her tips), and had spent some of it on Diagon Alley-a string of wizard shops hidden by magic in the very heart of London. She'd bought an amazing deep blue robe and some sleek, slender-cut clothes at Madam Malkin's, several books, including one entitled "Hogwarts: a History", and even found out how to awaken her chess set. She'd learned it was a wizard chess set, and that the pieces would come alive, playing a brutally delightful game of chess-if you could get them to do what you commanded. Her pieces quickly learned to trust her every command, even sacrificing the queen without complaint in one of her more brilliant strategic moves, as she won match after match against a number of wizened wizards at the pub.  
  
But mostly she'd spent her money doing what she did best-drinking with the late-night crowd (wizards and witches, many of questionable integrity, with nothing more pressing in life than the location of the next party). Despite her near-nightly drunkenness, she arose early every morning for work, reviving herself with a cold shower and hot black coffee. Most days no one noticed any difference. But the day they did became the day Roxanne made her first enemy in the wizard world.  
  
It began with a headache and a nasty scowl early in the afternoon. Roxanne's usual routine had failed to relieve her of the feeling that her head might split in two at any moment. She went about her work, numbly taking orders and clearing tables, when a couple came in-both tall and blonde-and took seats in a dim corner booth.  
  
The gentleman instantly snapped his fingers tartly to call her to his service -Roxanne hated that. Such a gesture generally meant she'd not easily get along with the customer. She signaled to him that she'd be just a minute and turned to the bar to fill an order. He stood and snapped again, glaring heavily at her. She chose to ignore him this time, as she placed plates before a group of lunching witches out for a lady's day out.  
  
He snapped a third time. "Waitress," he called impatiently. Roxanne turned her back, hoping he'd think she hadn't seen him, hoping he'd be annoyed-people like that deserved to be annoyed. But as she turned for the kitchen, he was there, in her face, his icy blue eyes piercing into her deep blue ones, his lips held tightly in a nasty scowl, his face so near hers she could nearly hear the veins popping in his neck.  
  
"My wife and I would like to order a round of drinks, if you don't mind," he hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
A moment of fear quickly turned to anger. Her mind began clicking, working out a plan to put this pompous pig in his place. She'd done it many times before in the muggle world-she'd had to learn to deal with bullies on her own from very early on.  
  
"Certainly sir," she said, feigning sweetness and ignorance. "I'll be right with you."  
  
After taking their orders she absently helped customers at several other tables, anticipating her big move. When Tom called her to pick up their drinks, she thanked him enthusiastically and marched across the room, placed the tray on the table, picked up the glasses and promptly poured them into the man's lap.  
  
"Lucius!" shrieked the woman, standing and clapping a hand to her mouth, a horrified look on her face. Her husband rose so forcefully the table lifted and toppled to the floor, narrowly missing Roxanne as she hopped out of its path.  
  
Then he was on her, one hand to her throat, his fingertips digging into her flesh, pressing her tightly against the wall. The other hand raised his wand as if ready to impale her with it.  
  
"Get off me!" Roxanne growled through clenched teeth, digging her fingernails into his robed arm.  
  
Tom rushed from behind the bar and several other wizards joined him, their wands drawn, as he approached. Roxanne couldn't be certain, and wondered about it often later, but it seemed that at least a few of these wands were pointed not at the man, but at her.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy! Please!" Tom yelled.  
  
The crowd waited in a tense and sudden silence. Lucius Malfoy had not taken his eyes from her face, but the look of malevolence cooled to a subdued rage as his grip on her throat loosened and his wand hand came slowly down.  
  
"You're a lucky one-today," he said sneering at her.  
  
Tom rushed forward and took Roxanne by the elbow, leading her forcefully behind the bar. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Malfoy. It won't happen again."  
  
Malfoy just snorted, then held his arm out for his wife's hand, and they strode out of the Leaky Cauldron. 


	4. The Burrow

CHAPTER FOUR: The Burrow  
  
The next morning Roxanne woke with yet another hangover and five nasty purple marks on her throat where Lucius Malfoy's fingers had tried to crush it. A hot shower and an extra-strong pot of black coffee had gotten rid of the headache, but the bruises looked worse than ever as she made her way to the kitchen for breakfast.  
  
Tom stopped her as she skirted behind the bar.  
  
"Them are some nasty bruises. Ye'd have done better to not make an enemy of Lucius Malfoy," he said gravely lifting her chin to examine her neck more closely.  
  
"Him? He's nothing but a bully, Tom!"  
  
"That very well may be true, but he's a bully with power-a powerful dark wizard, that one," he whispered with a shudder and a fearful sweep of the Leaky Cauldron's dark corners.  
  
"But, Tom-"  
  
"You listen to me," he said, his voice rising to a strained pitch. "What you started last night didn't end last night. Mark my words. Lucius Malfoy won't be done with you-nor me, I reckon."  
  
Tom's eyes darted around the empty pub again, and his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "It's for the best that you'll be leaving today."  
  
"Today?"  
  
"Get your things packed. I'd prefer it if you left now. You can wait for Hagrid in Diagon Alley."  
  
"You're afraid of him!"  
  
"Lucius Malfoy? You're damned straight I'm afraid of him!" Tom thundered. "And if you had anything in your head besides my best whiskey, you'd be the same!"  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne packed slowly, mulling over Tom's words and the fear she had seen in his face. Maybe, no certainly, she'd acted too rashly. The leftovers of the previous night's hard drinking had clouded her judgment. But her father was not here to sweep up the mess she'd made or smooth things over with Mr. Malfoy. And no amount of regret would pour those drinks back into the glasses or pick up the upset table, or remove the bruises from her throat-let alone take the fear from Tom's eyes.  
  
But she'd never backed down to bullies. Long years as a tormented freak had taught her it was pointless-they always backed off when you stood up to them; at least when she stood up to them. But Tom's words kept flickering in her mind: 'What you started last night didn't end last night. . .Lucius Malfoy won't be done with you!'  
  
She dropped her wand on top of the other things in the trunk, then thinking it might be best to keep it with her, tucked it into her pocket. She clicked her trunk shut, picked it up, still surprised by its lightness, and left the Leaky Cauldron mumbling an embarrassed apology to Tom.  
  
**********  
  
The day was bright on Diagon Alley. Roxanne wandered for a while until the delicious smells coming from a small restaurant reminded her that in all the morning's friction, she'd completely missed breakfast. It was now well past. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a few small coins-not much, but enough to get a little something.  
  
She ordered a roast beef sandwich, wrapped up to go, and a bottle of ale, paying out enough to leave a much smaller pile of coins in her pocket. She went back outside and found a bench in the sun near the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron to wait for Hagrid. Tom spoke of him as if she ought to know who he was, and the only description she had gathered was, 'Hagrid? You'll know him when you see him.' So she waited, her feet propped up on her trunk and her beer balanced on the arm of the bench, scanning the passing crowds for someone unusual enough to be unable to escape notice.  
  
There were many to fit this general description-at least by muggle standards. She still hadn't quite gotten used to the odd assortment of characters who frequented Diagon Alley. She still hadn't really gotten used to considering herself one of the magic people who surrounded her every waking moment now. But the figures who swept past her as the day passed were really quite ordinary by wizard standards. She thought she must have spotted him once when she saw a tall hat with a stuffed vulture perched on top coming towards her. But it had turned out to be an elderly, sour-faced witch.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne passed the time reading "A History of Magic," and peering into shop windows, checking the painfully slow passage of time on her watch, wondering when Hagrid would show up. Was it really today? Or was Tom just getting rid of her?  
  
Dinnertime approached. She realized she didn't have enough money for another meal, so she settled for another bottle of ale, sipping it slowly, not sure when she'd eat again.  
  
Hearing the sound of someone emerging from the Leaky Cauldron for the umpteenth time that day, she glanced lazily toward the entrance, thoroughly unprepared for what met her gaze. There stood an enormous man, nearly twice as tall as she, and broad as a Redwood tree. Hair seemed to tangle its way from every square inch of his head and neck, and two bright black eyes stared down at her.  
  
"Ye'd be Roxanne then?" he asked.  
  
Scrambling to her feet and knocking her half-drunk bottle to the cobblestones, Roxanne nearly fell over her trunk, stammering, "Wh-Who wants to know?"  
  
"Well, I'm Hagrid, of course. Rubeus Hagrid at yer' service," he said cheerfully. "You are Roxanne Stewart, aren't ye?"  
  
"Sorry, I mean, yes. You're just. . ."  
  
"Late? Sorry bou' that. Got to chattin' with a chap at the station. I 'spect we'll have to stay at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. The shops'll be closin' up soon and we'll need to get yer supplies tommora'," and he gestured toward the door behind him.  
  
Roxanne let her eyes drop. "I don't think Tom will let me back in," she said jamming her hands into her pockets.  
  
"Won' let ye back in? We'll see 'bout tha'." And before Roxanne could explain Hagrid turned and disappeared inside.  
  
Several minutes later he returned, walking slowly, his bushy eyebrows twitching. "You poured a drink on Lucius Malfoy?"  
  
Roxanne steadied herself for an onslaught similar to the one she'd gotten from Tom. But it didn't come. Instead Hagrid laughed out loud, slapping his knee. "I wish I'd been there to see it. But," he said, finally bringing his laughter under control, "I can see how tha' might be a problem fer ol' Tom."  
  
"And I don't have any money to pay to stay somewhere else," she said apologetically.  
  
"Well, we'll hafta see wha' we can do," he said, and disappeared inside the Leaky Cauldron again.  
  
It was nearly 20 minutes before Hagrid returned.  
  
"Talked to Dumbledore," he said. "He's very interested in hearing the whole story tomorra.' Daresay it'll give him a bi' of a chuckle as well. He suggested I try the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley's mor'n willin' but ye may find the accommodations a bit cramped. D'ye mind?"  
  
"No!" Roxanne blurted, relieved just to have someplace to sleep besides a cold stone bench.  
  
"We'll have te travel by floo powder. Come on," he said grasping her trunk. "I reckon Tom'll let us use his fireplace."  
  
**********  
  
Feeling slightly queasy from the spinning ride through the fireplace, Roxanne stumbled into a cluttered but warm kitchen. A plump red-haired woman hastily helped her to her feet and brushed soot off her clothes.  
  
"Well done, dear!" she said cheerily. "Would you like a cup of tea?"  
  
"N-no, thank you," Roxanne mumbled reaching for the nearest solid object to lean on.  
  
"It's a bit of a start, your first time through. But you'll get used to it." She steered Roxanne into an empty chair at the kitchen table. "Have some toast dear. It'll help settle your stomach," she said pointing to a plate in the middle of the table.  
  
At that moment a fizzing noise announced Hagrid's arrival who came stooping out of the nearly-too-small fireplace. "Evenin' Molly," he said. "Where are the children?"  
  
"They've all gone outside. We've just finished dinner. Are you hungry?"  
  
"I've already had," said Hagrid. "Bu' I think Miss Stewart might stan' fer summat. Eh, Roxanne?"  
  
The toast had done wonders to stop her head from spinning and her stomach from lurching. And she was very hungry.  
  
"Yes, please, I mean, thank you." She winced at her obvious lack of ease with polite conversation. "Hagrid," she began eyeing the fireplace apprehensively, "do we have to go back that way tomorrow?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. It migh' be best if we wait on breakfast until we get back to Diagon Alley," he said, looking her over and noting the slight green tinge lingering on her face. "Oh, by the way Molly. Have ye got anythin' fer these?" he asked, pointing to the bruises on Roxanne's throat.  
  
Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened. "Oh, my! How ever did you get those?" she said examining them carefully. Roxanne winced as Mrs. Weasley pressed on the bruises. She hadn't really paid attention to how much they hurt until now.  
  
"It's kind of a long story," she said quietly.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy, that's where," cut in Hagrid. "Them's what she got from him at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday."  
  
"You're lucky to have your head if you made him angry enough to do this to you," Mrs. Weasley tutted. "Could you fetch my Medi-kit, Hagrid? It's there by the sink." She gestured across the kitchen where, Roxanne noticed for the first time, the dishes were happily scrubbing themselves. As Mrs. Weasley swabbed her neck with a thick yellowish liquid, Roxanne glanced around the room some more, fascinated by her first venture into a wizard home.  
  
There was a pile of brooms standing in a corner near the door. By the look of them Roxanne guessed they weren't the type used for sweeping. A large, ruffled looking owl stood on a perch by the window, another sat on the banister, a third very small one flitted around the room and zoomed in and out of the open window. A large cauldron bubbled over a small fire on the large iron stovetop.  
  
"Molly," a voice called from the direction of the door, "are they here yet?"  
  
"Yes, Arthur dear. We're in the kitchen."  
  
The room became suddenly much noisier as a clamoring group of people-all with flaming red hair-came storming into the room. Hagrid rose to shake hands all around, greeting a young boy and girl with stifling bear hugs that swallowed them in the folds of his coat.  
  
"Hello, Hagrid," gasped the boy, newly freed.  
  
"Everyone!" called Mrs. Weasley above the din, placing her hands on Roxanne's shoulders. "This is Roxanne Stewart. Roxanne, this is my husband, Arthur-" A tall thin man with thinning red hair stepped forward and shook her hand. "-and our children Charlie, Ron, Ginny-"  
  
"She's the baby," interjected Charlie, affectionately tousling her hair.  
  
"-the twins-Fred and George-"  
  
"Good luck keeping them straight," said Ron with a roll of the eyes.  
  
"-and Percy and Bill are away at work. I expect Bill home late tonight. You can meet him in the morning," Mrs. Weasley said, pointing to each as they smiled and waved.  
  
Charlie, a stocky, handsome wizard with rough hands, sat in the chair across the table from Roxanne. "You're going to Hogwarts, are you?" he said accepting a cup of tea from his mother, who whispered, "Roxanne, your dinner's just warming in the oven, dear."  
  
"Thanks," she said to her before turning back to Charlie. "Yes. I thought I'd be there by now. I've actually been in Britain for nearly two weeks. I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron waiting for Hagrid to come for me."  
  
Charlie started. "You're American?"  
  
Roxanne nodded. "I'm from Montana."  
  
"Are you a cowboy-I mean cowgirl?" asked Ron, fascinated.  
  
Roxanne rolled her eyes. "No. I'm really just a suburban brat. There are a few towns in Montana big enough to have suburbs, you know."  
  
Charlie chuckled.  
  
"What will you be teaching?" asked Fred or George.  
  
"Defense Against the Dark Arts, I expect," said George or Fred. Ron was right. She'd never figure out which was which.  
  
"No. I'm not teaching," she said with a quiet laugh.  
  
"Roxanne'll be startin' at Hogwarts," said Hagrid, as proudly as a mother hen.  
  
"You mean, a student?" exclaimed Fred or George. "You're a bit old!"  
  
"George!" scolded Mrs. Weasley. So that one was George.  
  
"I'm not that old!" retorted Roxanne.  
  
"Yes, but you're not eleven then, are you. You're certainly older than I am," George pointed out.  
  
"Well that's fairly obvious," said Charlie. "No offense."  
  
"None taken. I'm twenty-five," Roxanne explained. "My Hogwarts letter was late."  
  
"Late! You call fourteen years late?" scoffed Fred.  
  
"It's a long story."  
  
"So tell it then," demanded Fred and George together.  
  
Roxanne laughed, but all eyes in the room were upon her now, eager to hear. She explained about her freakish childhood-never seeming to fit in or find other children she could relate to-and her parents' deaths, and the will- reading, and the late night in the seedy motel room. Ginny giggled shyly at the thought of a filthy bed nearly smashing Roxanne. The boys, including Mr. Weasley and Hagrid laughed out loud.  
  
"You just left it there?" gasped Ron, nearly in tears.  
  
"My father neglected to tell me about the 'Reducio' charm in his letter," she chuckled comfortably. She was enjoying the Weasleys. They were friendly and open and held nothing against her for her stupidity, but laughed warmly with her. She liked the feeling of a family around her. Her memories of her own family being like this were dim, but pleasant.  
  
Too soon, Mrs. Weasley shooed the children off to bed and the adults gathered round the fireplace talking well into the night. Now it was Roxanne's turn to ask questions-mostly about Hogwarts. The Weasleys and Hagrid answered them all. Just past midnight another red head strode through the door. "Hello! Hagrid, how are you!"  
  
"Evenin' Bill," said Hagrid clapping him on the back.  
  
"Bill," said Mrs. Weasley, bringing him a cup of tea, "this is Roxanne Stewart. She's just come from America to start at Hogwarts."  
  
"Yes, mum. I know." Everyone looked at him surprised. "I've just come from the Leaky Cauldron. Tom's in a regular snit over your treatment of Lucius Malfoy," he said, reaching to shake Roxanne's hand. "I for one am honored to know anyone who could make Lucius Malfoy that angry and live to tell about it."  
  
Everyone chuckled softly-except Roxanne who was feeling a bit unnerved by the increasing number of 'You're lucky to be alive,' comments.  
  
"Yes, but she's certainly managed to make a dangerous enemy early on," said Mr. Weasley gravely. "I think it's best to tell Dumbledore."  
  
"'S been done, Arthur," said Hagrid. "I spoke to 'im soon as I heard."  
  
"Will he be angry?" Roxanne asked apprehensively. She wasn't keen on being expelled this soon, after coming so far.  
  
"Angry?" said Mr. Weasley. "No, not angry. Not at you anyway."  
  
"I expect he'll get a good laugh out of it as well," said Charlie. "Then he'll do what he can to help you protect yourself."  
  
"This Malfoy character is really that bad?" she asked.  
  
Arthur looked at Hagrid questioningly. Hagrid nodded.  
  
"He's really that bad-a powerful dark wizard," said Mr. Weasley. "A Slytherin to the core-ambitious, manipulative, malicious, pretentious. Malfoy has a son at Hogwarts-you'll have to watch out for him. And it gets worse."  
  
"Worse? Worse how?"  
  
Arthur sighed. "I'm afraid you've come at a difficult time. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure at the wisdom of allowing you to come right now at all. We live in dangerous times. And Malfoy's right in the middle of it- I'll eat my broom if he's not."  
  
"Ye'll be safe at Hogwarts, though, long as Dumbledore's around," assured Hagrid.  
  
"True. The safest place to be right now."  
  
"What exactly is a 'Slytherin?'" asked Roxanne.  
  
"Your first day at Hogwarts, as thousands of witches and wizards before you, you will be sorted into one of four houses. Your house becomes your family of sorts. You dine, sleep, study, and play together. Members of each house share common character traits-Gryffindors-the lions-(we're all from Gryffindor house) are known for courage; Ravenclaw-the Ravens-for their sharp minds; Hufflepuffs-badgers -for loyalty and hard work; Slytherins-aptly symbolized by the snake-for ambition."  
  
"I suppose I'll be in Hufflepuff-my father said he was a Hufflepuff in his letter."  
  
"It's likely, but not certain," said Bill.  
  
"He also said his parents were dark wizards-does that mean they were Slytherins?"  
  
"Are you sure? He said they were dark wizards?" asked Mr. Weasley.  
  
"Yes. And my chess box-it's covered with snakes."  
  
Mr. Weasley sat back, thinking hard and staring into the fire. "Your grandfather-is his name Arriman Stewart?"  
  
"I-I don't know. I've never met him. I don't even know if he's alive." Roxanne was unsettled by the expression on Mr. Weasley's face. "But my father's middle name was Arriman."  
  
Mr. Weasley sat back, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Arriman Stewart was suspected of being a Death Eater, but no one could ever prove anything."  
  
"A Death Eater?" asked Roxanne, saying the words as if they tasted sour.  
  
"A follower of You-know-who."  
  
"No. I don't know who."  
  
The room fell into grim silence.  
  
Finally, Hagrid spoke. "It's best that she know-b'fore she goes any further."  
  
Roxanne sat in stunned silence as the story of Voldemort unfolded. His swift rise to power, his loyal followers and the path of terror they slashed through the muggle and wizard worlds, the murder and torture. Then the happy day when, it seemed, he had been defeated by the innocence of a child. Nothing was said of the boy's identity, and Roxanne was too wrapped up in the story to think to ask. And now, after so many years, it seemed clear that Voldemort had risen again-more powerful than ever-with his fury bent on absolute power and control.  
  
The story was not unfamiliar-she'd heard similar tales from her father. But the evil was always vanquished. Here, the story seemed to have no end. The evil, she learned, had risen from the ashes again-like a phoenix, she thought-a great black phoenix rising to destroy, rather than resurrect, hope.  
  
"You'll need to decide," said Hagrid. "Tonight'll be yer last chance to walk away. I'll see to it that ye get safely back home-if that's what ye decide. But Dumbledore'd never have invited ye if he thought ye were coming fer nothin'."  
  
Roxanne sat silent, blinking at the firelight. She nodded numbly at Hagrid's words. She could go back to the U.S.--wander off into the wilderness, get by waiting tables the rest of her life, always standing on the inside looking out at what she could have had. She'd rather be dead.  
  
"I'm staying," she said determinedly. "So, someone give me odds on which house I'll be sorted into."  
  
Charlie looked at her with a wry smile. "I figure your odds at 50-50- Slytherin or Hufflepuff."  
  
"Although," said Arthur, "I've never known of a Slytherin who didn't want to be one."  
  
********  
  
After a restless night, disturbed by thoughts of Lucius Malfoy and the bangings of the Weasley's family ghoul, Roxanne and Hagrid headed back to Diagon Alley. Her second trip by floo powder was just as unpleasant as the first. She was glad she'd skipped the delicious breakfast Mrs. Weasley had been preparing when they left. She was sure it would have ended up on the sidewalk. Hagrid retrieved her money pouch from Tom as she made her way quickly to the street. She thought it best not to make things worse with Tom by vomiting on his floor.  
  
Hagrid followed and pulled a long list of supplies she'd need from one of his huge pockets and began reading it aloud to her as Roxanne nibbled on the piece of dry toast Mrs. Weasley had wrapped and stuffed into her pocket. They walked through Diagon Alley, Roxanne following through the crowds in Hagrid's slipstream as he waded easily along. He stopped at a small café, set down her trunk next to a table and pulled a chair out for her.  
  
"Order us up some brea'fast. I'll be back in a tick," said Hagrid, then walked off and disappeared around a corner.  
  
When the waiter apparated at Roxanne's table she eagerly ordered nearly everything on the menu. Seeing the waiter's eyebrows rise higher and higher with each additional dish she quickly explained, "It's not all for me. I have a friend joining me in a minute."  
  
"Just one?" he asked, looking at her oddly.  
  
"Well, he's a big friend. Ah," she said, pointing down the street. "Here he is."  
  
Hagrid was swimming toward her, his head rising high above the stream of morning shoppers, a tightly wrapped package tucked under one arm.  
  
"What's that, Hagrid?" she asked pointing to the package.  
  
"Just a little somethin' fer a lady I know," he answered cryptically.  
  
**********  
  
The shopping went smoothly. Hagrid had a detailed list from Professor Dumbledore. And after double-checking that they had everything and stowing it all in her trunk, which still fairly floated in her grip, they made their way out into the streets of London. Hagrid hailed a passing cab (whose driver had stopped despite having thought better of carrying such an enormous, frightening-looking passenger), and sped toward King's Cross Station.  
  
"Ye'll be takin' the Hogwarts Express to the station at Hogsmeade," Hagrid explained. "The engineer's waitin' fer ye-just brought the students back to London for summer vacation."  
  
Roxanne found the magical portal onto Platform 9 ¾ fascinating and stepped back and forth through it several times, careful to go unnoticed by the muggles milling about the station, while she waited for Hagrid to check with the engineer.  
  
"Ye'll be off in a few minutes," he called. "We'd best get ye' on board."  
  
"Aren't you coming, Hagrid?" she asked apprehensively.  
  
"I'm afraid not. I've got an errand to attend to. I'll be seein' ye back at Hogwarts in the fall-perhaps sooner," he said placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. Seeing the slightly panicked look on her face, he explained, "Don't worry. There'll be someone ta meet ye at the Hogsmeade station." He stowed her trunk and settled her into a compartment, then gave her a large sack which turned out to be full of snacks, a couple of books for reading, and a large bottle of ale. "Don't ferget te put on yer robes before ye get there!" he called as the train pulled away.  
  
**********  
  
The trip northward was Roxanne's first opportunity to see the English countryside. Diagon Alley had consumed her time in London. She'd missed out on the Royal palaces and historic sights. But that sort of thing really held little fascination for her. She found the farther north the train sped, the more wild and beautiful the scenery became. 'A lot like home,' she thought, gazing at the mountains that seemed to crawl slowly higher out of the rolling landscape, like great razor-backed dragons bursting out of the earth. Home was so far away-a distance that seemed both comforting and lonely. But there was nothing there for her now.  
  
This wasn't really so much like home, she decided. This was all new-a new day, a new life, a fresh start. But a stabbing jolt in her stomach reminded her that, through Lucius Malfoy, she may have already spoiled everything.  
  
She reached into the sack and pulled out a book-"Dragons of the Northern Hemisphere"-and the bottle of ale. She found comfort in the bottle and distraction in the book as the Hogwarts Express sped on. 


	5. Hogwarts

CHAPTER FIVE: Hogwarts  
  
Hogsmeade Station was deserted when the train pulled in. Roxanne unloaded her trunk, checked the compartment for anything she might have missed and chose a spot lit by the setting sun to wait. She didn't have to wait long. A tall slender woman, severe-looking with black hair pulled into a tight bun, came striding quickly toward her. She introduced herself as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Roxanne extended her hand in greeting. Professor McGonagall took it reluctantly, as if such friendliness were improper, then removed her wand from her long black robes, muttered a few incomprehensible words and levitated Roxanne's trunk in front of her.  
  
"This way, Miss Stewart."  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne had read some of "Hogwarts: A History," while at the Leaky Cauldron, but her first sight of the castle towers rising over the rocks, the stone glittering in the setting sun, was stunning. She stopped in her tracks and gasped slightly. The castle stood imposing and strong. She had to take a few running steps to catch up again with Professor McGonagall. Although McGonagall seemed less than friendly, Roxanne was glad for her company as great guttural cries drifted over the grounds from the dark forest. The black lake came into view, its surface swelling darkly with the writhings of the unseen monster it held.  
  
The tiny hairs on the back of Roxanne's neck stood on end. She could feel the magic of the place penetrating the air, seeping into her flesh- disquieting and comfortable at the same time.  
  
Professor McGonagall led her inside through the massive oak entry doors and, settling her trunk at the foot of an impressive stone staircase that sloped and curved into the very heart of the castle, led her on into an expansive, high-ceilinged hall. Four long tables stood empty, candles suspended in the air casting their flickering light on their shiny surfaces. Slender stone pillars rose and faded into the enchanted ceiling, whose rosy sky was fast fading into star-dotted indigo.  
  
Roxanne froze, staring upward. The description in the book did not do justice to the sight.  
  
"I hope you will find your studies here as fascinating," called a voice from the other end of the room. To her great embarrassment Roxanne saw, for the first time, a fifth large round table at the front of the hall, and several robed men and women sitting around it. At the far side of the table stood a very old wizard dressed in long, flowing robes, and tall pointed hat. His shining silver-white beard hung nearly to his knees. He was beckoning to her to join them. Professor McGonagall had gone on ahead of her and was taking her seat to the right of the old wizard. With all eyes scrutinizing her closely, she shuffled forward.  
  
"I am Albus Dumbledore-headmaster of this school," said the old wizard coming around the table to meet Roxanne with hand extended. He took her hand in his and patted it in a fatherly way. "Welcome to Hogwarts, young lady," he said with a warm twinkling eye. "Your reputation precedes you."  
  
With a somewhat sheepish smile and the pink rising in her cheeks, Roxanne let him lead her around to the empty chair on his left. Sitting himself, he leaned close to her and whispered, "I certainly hope, after all, that you are Roxanne Stewart."  
  
She nodded. He smiled and turned to the others at the table.  
  
"Everyone, I am pleased to present Miss Stewart. Miss Stewart, the wizards and witches gathered here tonight will be primarily responsible for your education" He pointed to each in turn stating their names and areas of study:  
  
Professor McGonagall-transfiguration  
Professor Flitwick-charms  
Professor Sprout-herbology  
Professor Snape-potions  
Professor Moody-Defense Against the Dark Arts  
  
Roxanne struggled to stifle a shudder at Moody's appearance.  
  
"I trust Hagrid took good care of you," said Dumbledore.  
  
Roxanne nodded, still eyeing Moody, who eyed her back with one enormous eye.  
  
"Other professors, and other subjects will be added when term begins in the fall. But for now, I think we should proceed with the sorting. I am famished and would very much like my dinner. Professor McGonagall."  
  
"Certainly, Headmaster," said Professor McGonagall rising and producing a ratty old wizard's hat from beneath the table. It was patched and worn and musty with age. Professor McGonagall placed it gently on the table, where it immediately began squirming. Roxanne gripped the arms of her chair. She'd learned about the sorting at the Weasley's, but had not gotten far enough into her book to read about the sorting hat. What appeared to be a tear near the brim gaped open and the hat coughed.  
  
The hat said "Pardon me," in a gravelly voice.  
  
"Excuse me?" said Roxanne her eyes wide with surprise.  
  
"Forgive me. Are you hard of hearing? I said PARDON ME!" the hat roared.  
  
The professors around the table watched silently, unperturbed by the hat's behavior. It scooted itself closer to Roxanne and peered at her--at least it seemed to peer, though she couldn't make out any actual eyes.  
  
"So! You're the surprise student, are you?" it growled.  
  
Roxanne looked around for help, not exactly sure how to address the hat. No one offered any.  
  
"Er, yes. I guess so."  
  
"Do you know who I am?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I am the Hogwarts sorting hat," it said, shuffling ever closer. "It is I who will decided your fate at this school. I will discern your true character and place you in a house suited to it. Any questions?"  
  
"Er, do you take requests?"  
  
"No, I do not!" the hat roared, taking a threatening jump toward her. "Now, put me on. There's a good girl." The hat wriggled in her grip and settled itself carefully on her head.  
  
Silence.  
  
"How odd!" it exclaimed finally. "It can't be. No, no. It's quite clear. You belong in GRYFFINDOR!" it bellowed.  
  
Professor McGonagall gasped slightly. The headmaster's eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, that is odd," he said.  
  
"Are you sure?" Roxanne said to the hat.  
  
"Do you question my judgment?" growled the hat indignantly.  
  
"No!" Roxanne cried, not wanting to upset the hat any further, especially while it sat on her head. "It's just not exactly what I expected."  
  
"Indeed, nor I," said Professor Dumbledore.  
  
Professor Sprout looked perplexed. "What is it, Albus?"  
  
"Well, her family are all Slytherins," said Dumbledore. "They have been for generations-except your father," he said, turning to Roxanne. "He was a Hufflepuff as I recall."  
  
Roxanne nodded, cautiously taking the hat from her head and placing it back on the table. "That's what he said in his letter. I'm sorry, I don't understand-what's odd?"  
  
"House assignments generally, though not as a rule, run in families," Professor Dumbledore explained. "While it is not uncommon to have two houses represented in a family, it is highly unusual to have three."  
  
"Especially in a family like yours," added Professor Snape.  
  
"What do you mean, 'a family like mine?'" Roxanne asked cautiously.  
  
"As the Headmaster told you, your family have been Slytherins for hundreds of years," drawled Professor Snape. "They are fiercely proud of their heritage, and consider themselves to be of the purest wizard blood. To be delicate, your father's sorting was a disappointment to them. It was quite a scandal in some circles. And when he married a muggle," he said the word with distinct distaste, "his family was thrown into disgrace. Their prestige and reputations were irreparably tarnished."  
  
"Your grandfather wanted an inquiry-wanted the sorting hat examined for hexes," said Dumbledore. "It was I who convinced him the hat was functioning normally. There is no telling what he will do when he learns of this."  
  
"Does he need to know?" asked Professor McGonagall.  
  
"I'm afraid he is awaiting my owl," answered Professor Dumbledore gravely.  
  
"I'm sorry," interjected Roxanne. "I thought he was dead."  
  
"No, my dear," said Dumbledore, placing a hand on hers. "It would have been easier for your father to have you believe that, under the circumstances. But your grandparents-both of them-are very much alive."  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne ate little when dinner finally arrived, magically appearing on the table, food heaped on glittering golden platters. The events of the last few days had shaken the sense of security and confidence she'd only just started putting back together after finding about her father's long-held secret.  
  
While she had little sense of the honor that accompanied a place in Gryffindor house, she easily sensed the rarity of her placement there as a descendant of Slytherins. She recognized the freakish qualities that had set her apart her entire life-the qualities she had hoped would be unrecognizable among her own kind. Her hopes of finding a niche in which she could fit were fading fast. Even in the wizard world she was a freak.  
  
The Lucius Malfoy problem just seemed to grow, eating up her confidence as she encountered more and more furrowed brows with each telling of the story. Her uncertainty that nothing would come of it grew as well. Apparently, wizard bullies were not at all like the muggle ones she'd known so well.  
  
This last revelation had completely shattered any remaining shreds of confidence-that she had grandparents who knew of her, yet chose to ignore her. How would her life have been different if she had known them? How might it have been better? How might it have been worse?  
  
She paid little attention to Professor McGonagall's comments and instructions as she led Roxanne to her room-an unused classroom hastily thrown into some semblance of living quarters with a large four-poster bed, a dresser, a small table and two chairs.  
  
In the morning she was lost the instant she walked out the door. The corridors looked like a hopeless labyrinth. She half expected to see a Minotaur around the first corner. But the castle was quiet, seemingly deserted. She wandered the corridors, descending and climbing endless staircases, turning endless corners.  
  
Nearly desperate now, sure that she'd never be seen again, she rounded one more corner and nearly collided with a pale old man dressed in deep green robes. He was storming down the passage, away from Professor Dumbledore. The man started when he saw her. Then his eyes narrowed, he growled angrily and swept past her, grumbling to himself. Professor Dumbledore came to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"What did he say to you?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing," Roxanne frowned. "Who is he?" But she suspected the answer before she heard it. The face that had scowled back at her was her father's-older, paler, but without doubt. He was her grandfather. And he hated her.  
  
**********  
  
Breakfast at the round table was quiet. Several professors read the wizard newspaper-the Daily Prophet. Professor Dumbledore read and reread a letter he had received by owl post that morning, intermittently enjoying the large steaming omelet on his plate. Roxanne sullenly poked at her sausages and fried potatoes.  
  
Dumbledore took one last bite of omelet, one last sip of pumpkin juice and cleared his throat. "Shall we proceed then?" he said looking around the table and, seeing that everyone was finished, clapped his hands together. The table was suddenly cleared of breakfast, dishes and all.  
  
"Miss Stewart, the teachers and I have devised a learning schedule for you. But first, Professor McGonagall would like to go over the rules. Minerva?"  
  
"Thank you, Professor," Professor McGonagall said, standing. "First, I wish to welcome you to Gryffindor house. I am the head of Gryffindor. Therefore, any questions you have should be directed to me.  
  
"Your age does not permit you to share the dormitories with the younger Gryffindors. I hope you find your quarters suitable. You may decorate to suit your tastes-within reason, and if you have time.  
  
"You will not be permitted to earn house points for Gryffindor, nor may teachers take points from Gryffindor in your behalf." She looked directly at Professor Snape, who seemed deeply disappointed.  
  
"Points?" asked Roxanne. "I don't understand."  
  
"Teachers may award, or take, points from the four houses. Students earn points through their successes, or lose points for rule-breaking. The house with the most points at the end of the year is awarded the house cup- a tremendous honor." She shot a furtive smile at Professor Snape.  
  
"Gryffindor house has won the cup four years straight now," whispered Professor Dumbledore in Roxanne's ear. "I'm afraid Professor Snape is not overly excited about that-he's head of Slytherin house you know."  
  
"As there were those who wished to preserve their power to punish you if necessary," (Professor Snape wore a slightly more pleasant scowl) "you will still be subject to detention."  
  
At Roxanne's puzzled look Professor McGonagall explained, "Performing assigned, unpleasant tasks. Any teacher may assign you a detention. But all detentions must be cleared through me." McGonagall looked at Snape again, who was looking disappointed again. "You will take your meals at the head table with the teachers; you will be allowed to visit Hogsmeade whenever your duties allow; you will not be allowed to compete in student sports, clubs, or activities, though you may observe; you are discouraged, Miss Stewart, from forming close associations with our underage students as it will be very easy for me to lay blame on your adult shoulders should anything unfortunate happen. Do I make myself quite clear?" Professor McGonagall said looking as threatening as possible from under raised eyebrows.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am." Roxanne had been in trouble enough times to know a serious threat when she heard one.  
  
"Any questions?" asked Professor McGonagall, easing back from her menacing stance.  
  
"Just one," said Roxanne, smiling hopefully. "Is there a pub in Hogsmeade?"  
  
Moody, who had been watching silently until now, chuckled softly. Snape snorted derisively, his eyes narrowed.  
  
"As a matter of fact, there is," smiled Professor Dumbledore. "A fine establishment called the Three Broomsticks."  
  
"However," warned Professor McGonagall, "it would be wise to avoid repeating your performance at the Leaky Cauldron the other day."  
  
"Now hold on. I wasn't drunk-"  
  
"Perhaps not," shot Professor McGonagall, "but your foul mood was the direct result of a drunken binge the previous night. Correct?"  
  
Roxanne opened her mouth to object, but finding she had no good argument, and noticing the rapt attention of her audience, shut it again and dropped her eyes.  
  
"Now," said the Headmaster brightly, retrieving a roll of parchment from his robes and handing it to Roxanne, "we'll discuss your schooling."  
  
Roxanne unrolled the parchment. It held an outline of a typical 7-year Hogwarts education, with required courses written in red, elective courses in black. She noticed that all first- and second-year courses were red.  
  
"As I am fairly confident you would prefer not to spend seven years learning what your juniors are already quite proficient in, we've decided the best course will be to condense your education somewhat. With a few small adjustments on our parts," and his hand swept around to indicate the gathered teachers, "and a great deal of hard work on your part, including studying throughout the summers, we expect you to graduate in not more that three years." He studied her reaction over the top of his silver-rimmed spectacles.  
  
Roxanne swallowed hard. "Three years?" she said, staring at the extensive list of classes more intently. "Could I take the seven year option instead?"  
  
"No," Dumbledore said simply, but forcefully. There would be no arguing the point. "You will complete your first-year course work over the summer. Fortunately the staff gathered at this table have agreed to sacrifice their summer vacations in order to accomplish this. They deserve your gratitude, and respect." He held out another smaller roll of parchment. "This is your summer schedule. You will note that you have one week in which to study and pass each subject. As Professor Snape has pressing business away from Hogwarts, you will begin, today, with potions."  
  
Snape rose sullenly and signaled for Roxanne to follow. 


	6. Ups and Downs

CHAPTER SIX: Success and failure  
  
Professor Snape led the way down a cold stone passage into the castle's dungeons and the potions classroom.  
  
"Sit," he snarled as they entered the smaller storeroom behind Snape's tall desk. Roxanne sat herself in the single chair at the side of the large worktable in the center of the room. The walls of the storeroom were lined with high shelves filled with hundreds of jars, bottles, and boxes. No sooner had she settled herself then he rounded on her and, hands on the table, leaned over her menacingly.  
  
"You will be in this classroom by six A.M. every morning. You will do exactly as I say without question or complaint. You will remain here until I release you. Understand?" He lifted an eyebrow and waited for her response.  
  
Roxanne's jaw clenched. She leaned forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him, his stringy black hair nearly touching her cheek, and returned his glare. "Yes, sir!" She considered for a moment how she could get to him. He was, after all, just another bully. But if he was a bully like Lucius Malfoy, it would be wiser to stay on his good side-if he had one.  
  
Snape, seemingly sensing her thoughts did something he seldom did-he smiled. Not really a smile, more of a smirk. He was looking forward to putting this student in her place.  
  
"I have a great deal to do before I leave. You will assist me and, if you pay attention, learn as we work," he said retrieving a heavy stack of books from a shelf and dropping them with a hollow thud, a thick cloud of dust exploding from their pages, in front of her.  
  
"First, you will inventory and organize the storeroom. You have two days to learn each ingredient's origin and use; list all those that need replenishing, and where I can expect to find them; and organize the storeroom in such a way as to make it a simple task to locate the ingredients needed for any potion."  
  
Roxanne looked at him as if he'd just commanded her to fly to Mars. She opened her mouth to protest, but Snape smacked his hand on the table to silence her.  
  
"Two days," he said slowly through clenched teeth.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne attacked the task a shelf at a time. By noon the table was nearly half covered with bottles and jars that needed filling, and a sizeable group whose labels had fallen off and would need identifying. Snape refused to help her with this. Instead, she was expected to search the pharmacopoeia books he'd provided for their descriptions, which covered the other half of the table, lying open, bits of scribbled-on parchment sticking up from between their pages. It was difficult enough working forward in identifying and studying each substance, but to work backward was time-consuming and, it seemed, fruitless.  
  
Professor Snape drifted in and out of the room, giving instructions and invariably bringing more jars or boxes he'd retrieved from his office. He'd glare coldly over her shoulder, checking her progress, impatiently making corrections.  
  
The lunch hour came and went. Snape showed no sign of suggesting a break. Roxanne thought it best not to mention it, and kept working, her stomach growling louder and louder as the hours passed.  
  
It was after two o'clock when Professor Snape emerged carrying a tray laden with food and a tall pitcher of pumpkin juice. She tried to thank him, but he interrupted.  
  
"The noise from your stomach is giving me a headache."  
  
**********  
  
They worked that night, and every night that week, until nearly midnight. He'd had to help her find her room again that first night, and after that he took to showing her around the castle bit by bit, taking her to her room by a different route each night. He acted quite annoyed at the inconvenience, but accepted her thanks.  
  
"I expect you to be able to find your way to my classroom no matter where you are in the castle," he said tersely.  
  
After inventory and organization in the storeroom was completed, a half-day over schedule, Roxanne was put to work collecting ingredients. She took a long list to Professor Sprout in the greenhouses, and helped her prepare them to Professor Snape's exacting standards. Snape made her travel by floo powder once more on a trip to Diagon Alley for more difficult to find supplies.  
  
Finally he instructed her to retrieve a list of potions Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary would need to replenish her stores for the coming school year. Once this was done, Professor Snape began to open her mind to what he did best-potion making.  
  
For three days they made potion after potion. The desks in the classroom held dozens of steaming cauldrons with various colored brews bubbling inside-many to be watched and stirred for several hours or even weeks, with new ingredients to be added at precise times. They worked throughout the nights, catching quick naps atop empty worktables when the potions allowed. Professor Snape was always stern and impatient. Roxanne worked feverishly, putting up with his abuses because she was smart enough to respect his power, and because she was finding potions to be incredibly fascinating.  
  
Late in the afternoon of the third day most of the cauldrons had been cleaned and stored, the shelves were neatly packed with glistening bottles, jars and boxes-all brimming full-and Professor Snape had just arrived with a dinner tray. Roxanne gave the Dreamless Sleep potion another stir and removed the cauldron from the fire.  
  
"Done," she announced, a flicker of pride flashing through the exhaustion for a moment.  
  
They sat across from each other at a front row worktable. Snape looked tired as well-more than tired, he looked strained, as if carrying a heavy load.  
  
Roxanne ate slowly, enjoying the rest and the food.  
  
"We're done then?" she asked. She'd found it difficult at best to carry on any kind of casual conversation with Professor Snape. But found him not to be quite as unpleasant as she'd first believed. She'd actually come to respect him. He jumped slightly at her words, startled from his thoughts. "Except for the long-term potions, of course."  
  
Snape did not react angrily, as was his usual compunction, but heaved a sigh and rubbed his neck. "Yes. We're done at last. You'll need to tend to the long-term potions while I'm away. The last of them should be finished about mid-August. You've got the schedule?" She nodded as he poured himself a goblet of deep red wine and offered her one with an inquiring gesture.  
  
Roxanne nearly upset her plate in her eagerness to reach for her goblet. Seeing this, Snape eyed her for a moment before filling it for her. She took a long sip and closed her eyes, satisfied at last. Snape considered her for a moment, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"You have a talent for potions, you know."  
  
This time it was Roxanne who started, her thoughts drifting over the hill to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks.  
  
"Excuse me?" She wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.  
  
"You should consider making a career of it," he said firmly.  
  
She frowned slightly and looked at him skeptically. "I've only been at it a week."  
  
"True," he nodded. "But in that week you accomplished much more than I expected of you. Only someone with a gift for potions could have done it."  
  
Roxanne thought about it, and a satisfied smile played on her lips. She picked up her goblet and held it high over the table. "To potions then."  
  
"To potions" agreed Snape with a nod and a quick tip of his goblet.  
  
She'd worked hard all week and was thoroughly exhausted. For it she'd earned a compliment from Professor Snape-a rare thing she guessed. Between that and the thought of a night celebrating at the Three Broomsticks, Roxanne Stewart was feeling pretty good about herself.  
  
**********  
  
It was nearly two a.m. before Roxanne staggered out of the Three Broomsticks, waving goodbye to her crowd of newfound friends as she stumbled into the street. Madame Rosmerta, the barmaid, pointer her towards Hogwarts and gave her a shove to get her started. The road was dark and deserted, but she managed to stay on it somehow, and soon a bend in the road brought Hogwarts into view.  
  
The steps to the great oak doors seemed gigantic as she half-crawled up them. The interior of the castle was dark except for a few torches lit here and there. She stumbled noisily across the entrance hall, nearly tripping over a scruffy cat with glowing orange eyes.  
  
"Oh, shorry," she slurred, slumping to the floor and calling, "Here kiddy, kiddy."  
  
The cat gazed at her, unblinking, and pacing back and forth, its eyes never moving from Roxanne's stupidly friendly face.  
  
"Here kiddy, kiddy. C'mere kiddy," she tried again.  
  
"Well, well," snarled a thin nasal voice from the stairs. "What've we got here Mrs. Norris?"  
  
"Mr. Filsh!" Roxanne crooned drunkenly. "How are you?"  
  
Filch growled. "Been at the bottle, have we?" he asked, pulling her roughly up by the back of her robes.  
  
"I'm shorry. I shoulda ashked you to come-  
  
"Come? With you? He snorted. "Come on then. Off to bed with you. I daresay I'll be delighted to inform Professor McGonagall about this. Mind you don't be sick on my nice clean floors, or I'll have the Headmaster to tell as well."  
  
**********  
  
The next morning Roxanne woke with a start at the stabbing pain in her head. Something had woken her, but her dulled wits couldn't grasp what it was. Then she heard a loud knocking sound. Someone was at her door. She staggered out of bed, still in her clothes from the previous night. The knocking grew louder and more insistent. "I'm coming," she called, desperate for the hangover-amplified noise to stop. She swung the door open a crack and peered out. It was Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Come with me," she said coldly, and without waiting for Roxanne to dress, swept through the castle and down a brightly lit corridor to the kitchens. Several house elves gathered around as the professor commanded her to sit on one of the tables. Roxanne took little notice of them. She'd seen house elves before, but right now her head was pounding so intensely she couldn't be bothered to be amazed at how many of them there were.  
  
"A pot of strong black coffee, please," ordered Professor McGonagall to one of them.  
  
"Will Miss be wanting breakfast as well?" squeaked another nodding towards Roxanne. She held up her hand and shook her head gingerly, a wave of nausea rushing over her at the mention of food. Just the smell of breakfast lingering in the kitchen was almost too much for her. She sat helpless as Professor McGonagall poured black coffee down her throat and lectured her through gritted teeth. Roxanne was too sick to pick up any but the fiercest phrases which pounded through her skull like fiery spears:  
  
"-disgraceful! --last time! --irresponsible! --double detention! Drink this!"  
  
She felt the cool glass of a small vial being pressed into her hand. "Wh- What is it?" she asked trying to get her eyes to focus.  
  
"Just drink it!" roared Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Quit yelling!" pleaded Roxanne. "I'll do anything if you'll just quit yelling."  
  
Professor McGonagall fell silent, waiting impatiently, a foot tapping on the floor. Roxanne looked sideways at her, saw the furious determination in her face, decided it best to do it quickly, and tipped the bottle's contents into her mouth. It felt icy cold and she shuddered as she swallowed, the cold sweeping throughout her body. It did nothing. Her head still pounded, her stomach still rolled uncomfortably.  
  
"And this," demanded Professor McGonagall holding out another vial.  
  
Roxanne did as she was told, not daring to risk another onslaught of yelling. This second potion did the trick-the feeling that her head was about to explode quickly subsided. And though her appetite did not return, she immediately felt less nauseated.  
  
Professor McGonagall's temper had cooled, but she was still oozing disappointment that was as searing to Roxanne as the yelling had been to her pounding head.  
  
"I trust this will NOT happen again, Miss Stewart," Professor McGonagall whispered icily. "A wiser witch would have learned her lesson after nearly being beheaded by Lucius Malfoy. Now, I suggest you get your things quickly-Professor Flitwick is waiting for you."  
  
**********  
  
Professor Flitwick, a tiny balding wizard, seemed perfectly delighted to see her. He obviously wasn't as stuffy as Professor McGonagall and even asked if she'd had a good time at the Three Broomsticks. When she said she didn't really remember, Professor Flitwick laughed. "Well, you must've then."  
  
Their first session was spent going over the basics. Roxanne showed him everything she'd learned during her stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He nodded, cheerfully refining her technique, making her practice over and over until she'd perfected several charms, and improving her aim. Flitwick had nearly laughed himself off his seat when she told him about the incident in the motel room. So they spent their next session improving and speeding her aim from various distances.  
  
He was adamant that she remember the best way to learn a spell-find a useful application for it and immediately put into practice. By the end of the week she'd done away with her heavy schoolbag in favor of a small light shoulder bag, shrinking and enlarging her supplies as needed. The key to her room that hung on a chain around her neck was left in her room now, in favor of a handy unlocking charm. Then, realizing that just anyone could use it, she asked Professor Flitwick to help find a more suitable solution.  
  
Their last session, Flitwick had her take her first-year final exam, then challenged her to a game of wizard chess to celebrate. The game lasted nearly two hours, but Roxanne finally check-mated his King, which was promptly dragged off the board to the delight of Roxanne's pieces who mercilessly browbeat the losing pieces, clapped one another on the back and shouted praises to Roxanne.  
  
Fairly running, she ran to her room, whispered "Big sky" to the tiny portrait that now hung in place of a doorknob and threw her things on the bed. She dashed through the castle, down the grand staircase and was nearly to the door on her way to Hogsmeade when she heard Professor McGonagall's sharp call from the stairs behind her.  
  
"Miss Stewart!"  
  
Roxanne skidded to a halt.  
  
"Yes Professor?" she smiled, unaware that her long-anticipated visit to the Three Broomsticks was about to be delayed.  
  
"If you are finished with Professor Flitwick, you are to report to Mr. Filch for your first detention," she said coolly.  
  
"What? But Professor, I was just-"  
  
"You will take care of your responsibilities, Miss Stewart." She turned briskly and disappeared around a corner.  
  
Her good mood gone, grumbling, she continued down the stairs and made her way to Filch's office. Filch seemed to be more than pleased to see her, at least in his sadistic, punishment-loving sort of way.  
  
"Follow me," he sneered. They made their way through the castle to the owlery. Professor Snape had shown it to her once before, explaining that she was welcome to use the owls to send letters, but she didn't have anyone she wished to contact-not really. She supposed though she should send a letter to Tom, apologizing again for the trouble she'd caused. She hadn't done it yet, and wondered if it would be too late to be of any service. She was half wondering what they were doing in the owlery when Mr. Filch pointed to a broom, some brushes, buckets, and a ladder.  
  
"Start scrubbing-and no using magic," he snarled gleefully. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on your work. You're not likely to get it all done tonight," he tutted. "And there's still another detention to think on."  
  
Each sentence issuing from his mouth dragged Roxanne's mood lower and lower. She suspected it was Professor McGonagall's doing, trying to keep her out of Hogsmeade no doubt.  
  
The owls squawked and nipped at her hands as she climbed up and down the ladder, scrubbing the dozens of perches and walls clean of heavy layers of owl droppings. The harder she worked, the harder the owls seemed to try to undo it.  
  
When Filch returned it was nearly midnight. She had been watching the movements of the stars through the openings the owls used to get in and out. She knew it was very late. She was tired. Her arms and legs ached and, as Filch had suggested, the job was not finished.  
  
"See you in the morning then," he almost tittered.  
  
Roxanne responded politely--"Yes, sir,"-and dragged herself to her room. She flung herself on the bed without undressing and despite the twitching aches fell quickly asleep.  
  
**********  
  
The owlery finally done, Roxanne reported to Filch the next morning, not daring to hope for the rest of the day off-and she was right not to. He was kind enough to give her a half hour for lunch before starting her on adding a coat of lacquer to the enormous house tables, and benches, in the Great Hall.  
  
She watched the squares of sunlight from the narrow windows slip across the room and lengthen as the day wore away. By nightfall she still had the Gryffindor table to go, and tomorrow she would have to begin with Professor Sprout in the greenhouses. Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks was a fast- fading dream-at least for this weekend.  
  
Then the solution dawned on her. Professor Snape kept a supply of gin in the potions storeroom for making tinctures. She knew it would be unlocked, and even if it was locked she figured she knew enough magic by now to get inside. She patted her robe to ensure her wand was where it should be and made her way to the dungeons late that night after finally finishing her double detention.  
  
The room was in fact unlocked, and there, right where she knew they would be, stood three large bottles, all firmly capped and within easy reach. She retrieved an empty jar from a box on the floor and poured herself a generous measure, then sitting in the chair and propping her feet on the table she took a long slow sip and closed her eye, sighing in satisfaction.  
  
"That's better," she said aloud to herself, raising the jar for another swallow. But the cup never made it. A tremendous lurch sent it flying and her flailing backward, her head smacking the shelf behind her as she fell. The jar shattered on the stone floor spraying gin everywhere.  
  
Roxanne scrambled to her feet, checking the stinging lump on her head for blood-there was none. Had it been an earthquake? But none of the bottles on the dozens of shelves seemed to be disturbed, there was no dust falling from the ceiling, no lights swaying overhead.  
  
Another lurch sent her grasping for the table. She fell to her knees, the room suddenly spinning around her. Nausea hit her like a bullet and she vomited on the floor, which seemed to be bulging and writhing underneath her. The shelves around her swayed dangerously, but no bottles fell. The lurching and spinning continued, and Roxanne could no longer stay upright at all. She slumped to the floor and lay gasping, shutting her eyes tightly in hopes it would help. It didn't.  
  
She vomited twice more before the spinning began to slow and the room came gradually back into focus. She lay gasping like a caught fish for what seemed a very long time before she felt settled enough to try standing. Her legs wobbled uncertainly under her weight and her robes were soaked with gin and vomit, but she managed to make it back to her room where she splashed her face with cold water, removed her robes, threw them in an empty corner, and collapsed onto the bed.  
  
**********  
  
At breakfast the next morning Roxanne filled her plate to bursting with poached eggs and bacon, toast smothered with sweet berry preserves, fried potatoes and thick Belgian waffles. The incident the previous night had left her famished. She'd risen very early and thoroughly cleaned the mess in the potions storeroom before Mr. Filch had a chance to find it. There was no telling what he would do if he did.  
  
She'd thought about asking Madame Pomfrey about her sudden illness, but since she felt better and could think clearly again, she came to the conclusion that Snape must have jinxed the store of gin to keep people like her from nicking any. Besides, it just seemed best to keep any of this from getting back to Professor McGonagall.  
  
Today Roxanne would begin herbology. She'd just have to wait until next weekend to satisfy her thirst at the Three Broomsticks where the liquor was guaranteed to be jinx-free. Professor Sprout babbled on cheerfully as she walked Roxanne to the greenhouses after breakfast. Professor Sprout seemed very much in her element here-she was low to the ground and earthy with dark hair reminiscent of a tangled bramble hedge. She cooed to the plants as she walked among them. Roxanne thought this strange, but certainly no stranger than she'd seen before-even in the muggle world. But here in the wizard world a few of the plants cooed back.  
  
Despite all Professor Sprout's pleasantness and patience, Roxanne found herbology a daunting task. She'd gotten a respectable head start in her potions studies concerning what the plants were used for, but she found the care and processing of the plants to be tedious. She guessed somebody had to do it all, but Roxanne preferred the idea of buying the finished product from a store shelf somewhere to getting soil embedded under her fingernails and thorns under her skin.  
  
By the time the week was up she'd learned enough to pass her exam-just barely-and felt like she'd just spent an entire week doing detention. But at last she was free, for one evening, to make that long-anticipated trip to the Three Broomsticks.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne sat at the bar and when Rosmerta came smiling over to take her order she leaned forward and whispered, "Don't let me have more than three drinks tonight. Professor McGonagall'll have my head if I come back to the castle smashed again."  
  
"Sure thing, love" winked Rosmerta. "To tell you the truth, I was a little worried ye'd get lost on the way back to the castle. Glad to see ye back."  
  
Roxanne thanked her and ordered a drink, then looked around the room at the other patrons. There was no one she recognized, which was not surprising considering how drunk she'd been last time she was here.  
  
A youngish wizard came upon her and clapped her on the shoulder. "We missed you last weekend. Ready for a rematch?" he asked placing a worn brown chess box on the bar. Roxanne looked at him dully for a moment, not remembering the chess match or the face grinning down at her. But that didn't really matter-she was up for a good game of chess anytime-so she followed him to a nearby table inlaid with an ornate chessboard, and borrowing a house set, began setting up. Madame Rosmerta brought her drink over, a tall glass of mead, just as she moved her first pawn forward. The first few moves went quickly, so the drink went undisturbed as piece after piece moved onto the battlefield. Roxanne advanced a knight, he a bishop, then she had time to sit back, survey the course she intended to take the game, and take a long drink.  
  
Just as she reached to move a rook forward she felt the lurch that had knocked her off her feet a week before in the potions storeroom. She struggled to stay in her seat, but knocked the table causing the chess men to teeter dangerously. Most were knocked from their squares, and several, including her own King and Queen shook furious fists at her. Roxanne's face went deathly pale. Her opponent leaped to his feet in alarm, as she heaved twice and vomited across the chessboard. Several people at nearby tables gasped and pointed. One young witch turned away, sickened by the sight.  
  
Madame Rosmerta, who turned out to be stronger than she looked, grabbed Roxanne under the arms and hauled her quickly out the back door. She tried setting her on an empty crate near the door, but the world was already spinning too wildly and Roxanne spilled onto the cold ground, retching and vomiting again.  
  
The square of light from the open door danced around and the earth beneath her seemed to undulate like a stormy sea. Roxanne could hear Madame Rosmerta's voice, but it seemed far off and she couldn't understand her. Her own yelps seemed to come from somewhere besides her own throat.  
  
Roxanne heaved several more times before the spinning subsided and she was able to pull herself out of the pool of vomit and crawl back onto the crate. She was drenched with sweat and shivered violently in the cool breeze, her head resting in her hands. She'd lost track of Madame Rosmerta, but she appeared again, followed by Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall helped her out of her soiled robes which she threw aside with a sour look, gripped her shoulders and guided her down the alley toward the street.  
  
"Professor, I swear-" Roxanne began.  
  
"Silence!" she hissed back. They walked on, Roxanne staggering, her head drooping, Professor McGonagall holding her up and steering her forcefully back to Hogwarts.  
  
**********  
  
Professor McGonagall's rage seemed to intensify with each step. By the time they reached the hospital wing, where she dumped Roxanne roughly onto a bed, she was livid. "Madame Pomfrey!" she called. The medical witch, who by personality could have been Professor McGonagall's sister, poked her head outside her office door. "We'll need a sobering potion."  
  
"Professor, I'm not-"Roxanne tried again.  
  
"Shut your trap and take your medicine, Miss Stewart," Professor McGonagall hissed.  
  
"But I'M NOT DRUNK!" she finally shouted.  
  
Professor McGonagall eyed her critically. "Explain."  
  
"I was just playing chess. I-I'd just taken a drink, one swallow, of mead, and then-" she groaned as dizziness crept up on her again, "then the world kind of-fell. And I was sick everywhere, and I couldn't stand up. Last time it happened I thought-" She stopped. She'd recovered enough to regain her senses and realized she was facing more detention if she let her midnight visit to Professor Snape's storeroom slip out. But Professor McGonagall was on to her in an instant.  
  
"What exactly do you mean by 'last time?'" she said slowly, crossing her arms dangerously over her chest. Roxanne groaned and let herself fall over onto the pillow. She had no choice. She'd have to tell now. Despite her attempts to gloss it over, Professor McGonagall assigned her double detention again then stepped aside for Madame Pomfrey to examine her.  
  
She was firm and thorough. But the magic she called medicine did the trick and Roxanne was nearly feeling herself again and getting dressed in clean clothes. Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall consulted quietly nearby. Was it her imagination or did they seem to be enjoying her misery?  
  
Professor McGonagall left and Madame Pomfrey swept sternly over.  
  
"You have contracted a rare magical malady, Miss Stewart," she informed her coolly. "Unfortunately you will be unable to drink alcoholic beverages anymore. Fortunately, there is no cure," she said meaningfully.  
  
Roxanne groaned again. At the moment she was not overly disappointed to hear this bit of news, but she hadn't failed to notice the firmness in Madame Pomfrey's voice. It was apparent that Professor McGonagall was not overly concerned about her prognosis either.  
  
"Now, off to bed with you," said Madame Pomfrey, pointing her towards the exit.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne was not at all surprised to find she'd be starting transfiguration with Professor McGonagall next. In fact she was certain Professor McGonagall had arranged it after her disastrous trip to the Three Broomsticks the other night.. She felt squirmy and uncomfortable at the though of being under the ever-scrutinizing eye of Professor McGonagall all day, every day, for a week. And her discomfort grew as it became obvious that her transfiguration talents were seriously lacking.  
  
Try as she might she failed over and over again to grasp the basics. The rabbits she'd been trying to turn into slippers only half-transformed into extremely ugly furry lumps that bit her toes when she tried to put them on. And that had been her greatest success. It didn't help that Professor McGonagall hovered sternly over her, barking instructions and throwing her hands in the air in frustration. Nor that Roxanne failed to see the value of transfiguring one object into another. "There are plenty of very nice slippers available without having to make them out of the Easter Bunny," she'd mumbled, much to the outrage of Professor McGonagall.  
  
At the end of the week Professor McGonagall sniffed disapprovingly at Roxanne's exam scores. They were passing, but low-very low. So low that at dinner that evening Professor McGonagall insisted that Professor Dumbledore allow her another week. But at Roxanne's pleading look he suggested that perhaps, at the end of the summer, if there was time, she could try again.  
  
Deciding the walk to Hogsmeade wasn't worth the effort anymore, Roxanne remained at Hogwarts that weekend-and every weekend for the rest of the summer-reading, playing chess with Professor Flitwick (he hadn't managed to beat her yet, but several games ended in a stalemate), and avoiding Professor McGonagall, who kept trying to force her to the transfiguration classroom for more lessons.  
  
Professor McGonagall did have one trait in common with Roxanne. They were both natural early risers. Which meant Professor McGonagall had extra morning hours to coerce Roxanne into her classroom. To avoid this sticky problem, Roxanne took to exploring the Hogwarts grounds in the hours before breakfast. They were blissful hours, spent alone, no books, no eyes watching her every move, no critical comments or pop quizzes (which Professor Sprout was fond of throwing at her every time she saw her). She often strolled around the lakeshore or skirted the edge of the forest hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the many magical creatures that hid there. More than once, in the misty morning twilight, she'd caught sight of a silvery-white unicorn. She'd had a fleeting thought of following it into the forest once. But like every new student at Hogwarts, she'd been warned of the dangers that lurked in the forest, and forbidden to enter it.  
  
The weeks passed quickly, with successes in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Moody, and History of Magic with Professor Dumbledore (Professor Binns, the usual teacher, had not altered his teaching schedule over his own death and could not be persuaded to alter it for Roxanne).  
  
Moody seemed to be constantly scrutinizing her with his enormous magical eye. The Headmaster had told him of Roxanne's encounter with Lucius Malfoy, and Moody seemed bent on figuring out what made her tick-did she possess extraordinary bravery, or excessive stupidity? Either way, he took his job of teaching her how to protect herself seriously. He was as demanding as Professor Snape and relentless as Professor McGonagall. She learned a number of useful defensive charms-Moody was reluctant to teach her offensive hexes until he was more certain of her character. The remainder of the summer Moody would attack her without warning, sharpening her reaction time and defensive technique, teaching her 'constant vigilance' (a phrase Moody was overly fond of) through practice. At first she made a near daily trip to the hospital wing for minor injuries he'd inflicted on her. But pressed to avoid more pain, she worked harder, and soon became expert at avoiding him as well as his hexes.  
  
Professor Dumbledore's lessons were fascinating-what a shock she was in for when Professor Binns (whose lessons usually gave his students extra time to catch up on sleep) took over in the fall. Dumbledore conjured miniature scenes, like holograms, on the long house tables, explaining the politics, the tragedies, the triumphs, as tiny figures acted them out before her eyes. Except for the infrequent times he'd leave her reading an interesting passage while he took care of important business, he spent all day with her, poring over and discussing stories of long ago wizards and witches over meals and tea.  
  
At least the Headmaster would drink tea. Roxanne had not taken well to the English habit of throwing tea at you every time you sat down. It was annoyingly polite and overly repetitious being offered tea several times a day and trying to refuse without being rude-although no one seemed to be put out when she refused. She didn't really like tea, unless it was overloaded with sugar, but as it seemed impolite to plop six or seven lumps of sugar into her cup, she generally declined in favor of pumpkin juice or water.  
  
The weekend before her seventh week, Hagrid returned. He spent half a day meeting secretly with Professor Dumbledore, then returned to his duties as gamekeeper. Dumbledore, whose mood had changed little over the summer, seemed more thoughtful after his meeting with Hagrid.  
  
Hagrid's long absence meant there was much to be done to prepare the grounds for the coming school year, as well as prepare for his Care of Magical Creatures classes. Roxanne was given the task of assisting him for the remainder of the summer. Professor McGonagall did her best to hide her disappointment.  
  
Hagrid thanked her for cleaning the owlery and complimented her on a very thorough job, but was dismayed that Professor McGonagall had gotten so angry. "If I'd gotten inta tha' much trouble ev'ry time I wen' ta drinkin'- well, let's jus' say this castle'd be sparkling clean from top ta bottom," he laughed.  
  
Hagrid kept her busy, but always took time to sit back and enjoy the warmth of the day, and never made her skip a meal. But the work was hard, and she collapsed exhausted into bed each night, or fell asleep hovered over her books at her table. Hagrid was always good company, and included her in his ventures into the forest to check on the creatures that lived there. As she became more familiar with it, the forest turned from the dark and threatening place she'd been warned about, to an enchanting, mysterious place that begged her to explore its depths. It reminded her of Mirkwood from the Hobbit's tale her father had told her as a child. She could easily envision the black stream and the elven lights flickering in the dark far off the path.  
  
Hagrid carried his crossbow with him whenever he went into the forest. It served as a reminder to Roxanne that, despite its allure, the forest remained a dangerous place that emanated a sense of hidden threat, though Hagrid never showed any signs of fearing it. But he continually warned her against coming here after dark, or straying off the paths. 


	7. The Chess Challenge

A thousand thanks to faithful readers and positive reviews. PLEASE let me know where I can improve. I hope you're not having too much trouble with the hyphenation thing. The entire work is hyphenated correctly in my Word file, but the conversion to Fanfiction makes all the hyphens and dashes look the same. I also have yet to figure out how to translate my italicized words over to Fanfiction intact. Any hints would be much appreciated.  
  
Note to Jadesky-Oh, yes! You will certainly find Remus within this work. He is one of my favorites as well. I just hope you don't hate me by the end.  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Chess Challenge  
  
Term was to begin in less than a week. Professor Snape returned, haggard-looking and in, if possible, an even fouler temper. The pace of preparation rose to a frenzied pitch as more and more teachers arrived after pleasant summer breaks. Professor Dumbledore dealt with a constant stream of owls from the Ministry of Magic, while Professor McGonagall handled the flurry of owls from students and parents. Professor Snape's return meant a last minute restocking of the potions storeroom-he requested that Roxanne be made available to help.  
  
Although she'd long-since scrubbed the floor, walls, and shelves of any evidence, and replaced the missing gin, a nagging guilt twisted in her gut every time she stepped over the storeroom's threshold. She imagined Professor McGonagall had told him about the incident. He'd probably gotten a laugh (well, maybe a sour smirk) out of her detentions. He said nothing about it, didn't treat her any differently, but put her right to work checking and rechecking the stock.  
  
Finally, she could stand it no longer.  
  
"Professor."  
  
"Yes, Miss Stewart," he replied, without looking up from the parchment spread on the table beneath his beady eyes.  
  
"I need to apologize to you."  
  
At this he looked at her with narrowed eyes, then opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"No," she interrupted. "Please don't stop me or I'll never get through this." So he sat in grim silence as she poured out the story-the drunken Hogsmeade weekend, the long detentions, the stolen gin, the dizzy spell, the mess on the floor. "I'm sorry," she finished. "It will never happen again."  
  
He considered her carefully for a moment. She fully expected him to explode. But Snape half-smiled-truly not a facial expression that came easily to him. "I'm not going to attack you, Miss Stewart," he said, bemused by her whipped-dog stance. "As a matter of fact, I've know of your crime for quite some time. I quite enjoyed seeing you sweat. It can't have been easy for you to tell me the whole sordid tale. I use only the best gin. It's a shame you were unable to enjoy it." Snape fell silent. Roxanne wasn't sure what to say. "I accept your apology," he sighed reluctantly. "Now can we get back to work?"  
  
**********  
  
Late in the afternoon of September first, Hagrid fetched Roxanne from the library where she'd been helping Madame Pince-a rather unpleasant, pinch-faced witch who reported having had a horrid vacation in China-dust up the bookshelves. Roxanne thanked Hagrid when they stepped outside the castle's front doors, then asked, "What's up, Hagrid?"  
  
"The train'll be here any minute. I thought ye migh' like te cross the lake wi' the res' o' the firs' years."  
  
"But they're-what-eleven, aren't they?"  
  
"I know, I know. Ye'll look a bit outta place. But ye can ride wi' me. They'll not know any diff'rent."  
  
She eyed him skeptically.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Roxanne. All firs' years gotta cross the lake on the first day o' term," he urged. She finally relented and they walked into Hogsmeade together, Hagrid quizzing her for her Magical Creatures exam that she would take tomorrow.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne waved to the engineer as the sleek red Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. He climbed down from the cab after the engine was secured and talked with her about her summer as hoards of young people, all dressed in neat black robes, disembarked.  
  
Hagrid was calling the newest batch of first-year students around him and waving to others as they passed him on their way to the waiting carriages. Roxanne spotted the shock of red hair that signaled the Weasley family and waded through the crowd of mostly-shorter students to say hello. Ron's head stood well above those of his brothers and sister, and he spotted her first.  
  
"Roxanne!" he called, waving wildly and struggling against the crowd to greet her.  
  
"Hey, Ron! George, Fred, Ginny! How was your summer?"  
  
"The best!" called George or Fred. She'd never be able to get them straight. They were all ecstatic to hear she'd been sorted into Gryffindor.  
  
"Roxanne," said Ron, I'd like you to meet my friends. This is Hermione Granger," he said placing his hand on the back of a bushy-haired young witch that had fought through the crowd with him.  
  
"Hi, Hermione. Welcome back to Hogwarts."  
  
"And this," said Ron impressively, as if she'd be astounded by his next introduction, "is Harry Potter."  
  
"Hi, Harry," said Roxanne shaking his hand firmly, with no trace of astonishment, no hint of recognition, no quick peek at the scar on Harry's forehead. Ron was dumbfounded.  
  
Harry was pleasantly surprised to meet someone in the wizard world who didn't gawk at him like some sideshow freak at the mere mention of his name.  
  
"Roxanne!" said Ron pointing significantly to the dark-haired boy, "Harry Potter!"  
  
"I'm sorry. Have we met?" she asked, failing to cotton on.  
  
"No. Ron," said Harry. "Really. It's OK."  
  
Gratefully Hagrid called. Harry and Roxanne shrugged at each other, Roxanne signaling with a finger to her head that Ron must be loopy. Harry nodded in agreement and laughed.  
  
"I'll see you later. Hagrid's taking me across the lake. It's good to meet you both!" she called as she hurried off to join the other first- years.  
  
**********  
  
Hagrid proved too large to share a boat with, so Roxanne ended up alone, in a spare that glided smoothly over the still black water toward Hogwarts castle. She'd seen this view many times in the predawn darkness, so instead of gaping and 'oohing' at the sight along with the others, she lay back in the boat and let her hand trail in the water, watching the stars flicker into view as the sky darkened. The giant squid swam beneath the boats, touching Roxanne's hand from time to time. The other first-years were oblivious to the huge sleek shape in the black water beneath them. Most knew the creature was down there lurking somewhere and cast nervous looks into the water, relieved to finally reach the shore.  
  
As Professor McGonagall gathered the first-years in anticipation of the sorting ceremony, Roxanne slipped off to quietly take her seat at the farthest end of the long head table. She looked for, and spotted, the Weasleys who waved enthusiastically. She smiled and waved back with a small, unsure tilt of the hand, glancing down the row of teachers for any disapproving glares. Surprisingly, there were none.  
  
A tall narrow-faced blond boy at the Slytherin table was straining to get a look at her. He had a malevolent smirk on his face as he whispered to his gang of gorilla-sized friends, pointing furtively. Roxanne didn't notice. But Fred and George did. They pointed him out to Ron, who pointed him out to Harry and Hermione. Snape had noticed too, and shot a warning glance at the boy, whose smirk became more subdued and his whispering ceased.  
  
**********  
  
The new school year began for Roxanne with exams in Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic, receiving high marks on both. Her new schedule involved learning her subjects by assisting the professors-one each day--and studying History of Magic on her own in the evenings and on weekends. She was then to report to Professor Binns regularly on what she'd learned. Professor Binns' discussions proved to be nothing like those she'd had with the Headmaster. But even Binns couldn't squelch the fascination for the subject instilled in her by Dumbledore.  
  
Mondays she assisted Professor Snape with potions. Despite Snape's less- than-friendly temperament, Roxanne looked forward to Mondays, simply because she'd found something she excelled at. And Professor Snape seemed pleased to have a student eager to absorb his knowledge.  
  
Tuesdays she assisted Professor Moody-not an easy task considering Moody's constant state of high security. Roxanne had to be certain he knew when to expect her and carefully stick to the routine. She'd only had to be pinned to the wall once earlier that summer, a wand tip held menacingly to her forehead, to learn that lesson. Afterwards he'd told her about his career as an Auror (a sort of dark magic policeman), about years of tracking down and imprisoning malevolent dark wizards and witches, about many of the cunning enemies he'd earned-not all of whom were incarcerated, and the sources of many of his scars which covered his face like a nightmarish mask.  
  
Wednesdays Roxanne was trapped with Professor McGonagall who insisted she sit in on the first- and second-year classes in an attempt to break through Roxanne's difficulties with the subject. By the end of September Professor McGonagall's frustration turned to livid determination and she required Roxanne to spend extra time on Wednesday mornings reviewing and re- reviewing what she learned the previous week.  
  
Thursdays Roxanne helped Professor Flitwick with charms classes. While much of her time was spent cleaning up after clumsy, inexperienced students, she was learning dozens of new and useful charms. And when they had spare time, Professor Flitwick could be found teaching her handy dueling techniques to help her with Professor Moody's continuing attacks, or challenging her to a game of chess. A chess-master himself, he managed to beat her a few times, which only heightened Roxanne's determination to not lose again, and she studied his strategies carefully at each match.  
  
Fridays she reported to Hagrid's hut. Hagrid put her straight to work handling a variety of magical creatures. After a number of near misses and minor injuries, Roxanne felt she could tackle nearly anything Hagrid threw at her.  
  
Like the other students, Roxanne had homework assignments to complete and could often be found in the library or in the Great Hall studying at the near-empty Gryffindor table, surrounded by books, quills and parchment. The other students watched her curiously at first, but she soon became part of the routine, though not a link in the continuous chain of gossip that snaked through the student body. Several of the seventh-year boys had taken to vying for her attention, but Professor McGonagall's stern warning on her first full day at Hogwarts kept Roxanne from paying them any attention-even to tease just a little. Besides, she was not interested in teenagers-she'd sooner date Professor Moody. And since Hogwarts was barren of young adult men, with the exception of Professor Snape, (well, relatively young) Roxanne had few things to distract her from her studies.  
  
She needed a distraction.  
  
Flying turned out not to be the distraction she'd hoped it would be. Her first afternoon of flying lessons with Madame Hooch could have been taken from an old vaudeville comedy routine. First, she looked and felt terribly out of place among the gawky eleven-year-olds. The tallest one only reached her shoulder in height and, unlike herself, most seemed perfectly comfortable standing beside a magic broomstick. Second, she seemed to have chosen an extremely temperamental broom that refused to even so much as shiver at her word, and bucked and twisted when she tried to mount it as if it feared her adult weight would snap its handle in two. When she finally managed to get the broom in the air, it did its best to pitch her off. Madame Hooch frowned at Roxanne sternly as if the entire episode were her fault. And even worse, she had the extreme misfortune of being an object of humor to a group of pimply children.  
  
She eventually came to an awkward truce with the rudiments of the skill- enough that Madame Hooch finally relented and released her from further flying lessons. She would be perfectly happy to watch the others fly without any trace of desire to join them.  
  
**********  
  
One Saturday afternoon, about mid-October, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were playing a game of chess at the Gryffindor table. Hermione, her nose in a book as usual, kept intermittent tabs on the game's progress. Roxanne had noticed the three seemed to be inseparable. She'd also noticed that Harry seemed to lose a lot of chess games to Ron. She didn't remember him winning once. She tried to keep her mind on her essay for Professor Snape: "Deadly Poisons and How to Recognize Them." But the chess game-as all chess games did-kept pulling at her attention and she found herself watching carefully as Harry made mistake after mistake and Ron mercilessly took advantage of them. Harry, though he'd gotten much better since first learning to play, was losing badly and Ron was very smug about it.  
  
As Harry went to make another bad move Roxanne cleared her throat loudly. Harry, his hand still on the chess piece, looked at her. She looked straight back and shook her head, clearly signaling that he could do better. As Harry's chess pieces seemed to agree with her, Harry replaced the piece, studied the board carefully and chose another. A glance at Roxanne told him he'd chosen better this time.  
  
The rest of the game continued this way-Harry checking for Roxanne's approval before each move, and Ron glaring at her with increasing annoyance- until Ron finally won (Harry's game had been too far gone to save).  
  
Roxanne shrugged and went back to her studies. Harry slid over and thanked her.  
  
"It's OK-I just couldn't sit here and let him completely trounce you," she replied.  
  
"And I suppose you think you could beat me?" It was Ron standing across the table from her, his long arms crossed.  
  
"I believe I could give you a run for your money." It was Roxanne's turn to act smug.  
  
"Let's go, then," Ron challenged.  
  
Roxanne took a small shiny black box from her shoulder bag, touched it with her wand and enlarged it with the 'engorgio' charm. Ron gasped as the snakes inlaid into the lid became easily identifiable.  
  
"Roxanne," said Harry hesitantly, "I thought you were a Gryffindor."  
  
She followed his astonished gaze to the box, becoming acutely conscious for the first time how odd it was for her to be carrying such a box. She wasn't sure she ought to tell him how unusually violent her chessmen seemed to be.  
  
"It was my father's," she replied. "A gift from his parents. They were- er, are Slytherins."  
  
Ron and Hermione had not failed to understand the significance of what she'd just told them-a Gryffindor born of Slytherins! Neither really had Harry. But Harry had never been one to flinch unpleasantly over oddities- being one himself. Roxanne noticed this and appreciated it as much as Harry appreciated her apparent ignorance of him and all he represented- although he had a difficult time believing someone could have been at Hogwarts for 3 ½ months without ever having heard of Harry Potter.  
  
"Are we still going to play?" Roxanne asked.  
  
"What? Oh, yeah. Of course," said Ron, a puzzled expression still on his face.  
  
The game was a long one. They were still playing as the rest of the Gryffindors gathered for dinner, still playing as the teachers entered, still playing as Professor McGonagall sniffed testily and complained to Professor Dumbledore about Roxanne consorting with the younger students. But Dumbledore soothed her, ("It's just a chess game, Minerva.") and the game continued. Pieces advanced and retreated as Ron and Roxanne did their best to outmaneuver the other. They played through dinner, snatching bites between moves.  
  
After the tables had been cleared of dinner and most of the students had left for the dormitories, thirty or so remained behind, gathering on either side of the table, shuffling about to get a better view of the game. Professors Flitwick and Dumbledore stayed as well, quietly discussing the game from a respectable distance, seated in chairs perched atop the table.  
  
The game seemed to be going nowhere, and the chessmen were growing tired, when in a brilliant capture, Roxanne defeated Ron's remaining Bishop, sacrificing a knight in the effort and ending the game in a stalemate.  
  
"Well, bless my soul," declared Professor Flitwick surveying the near-empty board.  
  
Ron stared at the board. "You did that on purpose," he said, disappointed. "You lost your knight on purpose. You forced a stalemate! Why?"  
  
"I'm tired. Neither of us could have won-even with the knight still on the board. What was the point of going on?" she answered with a shrug.  
  
Without another word Ron scooped up his chessmen and stormed off to bed.  
  
"Good game," drawled a slender blond Slytherin boy to Roxanne as she cleared her chessmen.  
  
"Thanks," she said without looking up. It had been one of a long string of congratulations as the gathered crowd worked their way out of the room, and at the moment she was having difficulty getting her knights into the box- they were having a heated argument about whether Roxanne had made an error that could have turned the tide of the game.  
  
Professor Flitwick came forward. "All right then Mr. Malfoy," he said sternly. "Off to bed with you."  
  
Draco Malfoy smirked at the look of shock on Roxanne's face as she spun to look at him. Then he turned and, followed by two much larger boys, strutted out of the Great Hall.  
  
**********  
  
Harry came into the dormitory a few minutes after Ron. Ron was lying on his bed, still dressed, fuming.  
  
"I had to wait to get my chess board back," said Harry, explaining his delay. But Ron ignored him. "Ron-it's a chess game! She didn't beat you did she."  
  
"She may as well have," Ron spat.  
  
"You're not really this upset about tying a chess game, are you?"  
  
"Ah, Harry. It's just that-well-chess is the only thing I can beat you at. It's my 'trail to glory,'" Ron said dramatically. "If she can beat me-"  
  
"She didn't beat you!" Harry reminded him.  
  
"She was bloody brilliant," breathed Ron, a note of awe in his voice. "I've gone soft with no one challenging to play against."  
  
"Thanks," said Harry smirking.  
  
"C'mon Harry. I didn't mean-"  
  
"I'm only joking, Ron. I know I'll never be able to come close to beating you-even when you go easy on me. You'll catch her next time."  
  
"Yeah, I reckon so," Ron said, perking up a bit. Neville, Dean, and Seamus came banging up the stairs, burst into the room and bounded toward Ron.  
  
"Amazing!" said Dean, pounding Ron on the shoulder.  
  
"I've never seen anything like it!" roared Seamus.  
  
Neville just shook his head vigorously, a look of deep admiration on his face. Ron was surprised, and pleased, at all the attention.  
  
**********  
  
Ron took to carrying his chess set with him wherever he went, hoping to catch Roxanne for a rematch. He found she studied in the Great Hall, and eager to avenge himself, badgered her ceaselessly.  
  
"Ron, can't you see she's got work to do?" said Hermione testily. Ron rolled her eyes at her. She couldn't possibly understand. It seemed obvious to him that a chance to redeem his reputation was volumes more important than studying.  
  
Finally, on a Wednesday during lunch break Ron's relentless pestering paid off, and Roxanne stowed her transfiguration textbook and retrieved her chess set. She'd had enough transfiguration for one day anyway.  
  
"Ron," whispered Harry urgently, "we've got potions next. You realize what Professor Snape'll do if you skip his class."  
  
But Ron squared his shoulders. "This shouldn't take long," he said confidently setting his pieces on the board.  
  
Roxanne looked at Harry and shrugged. Then turned to Ron and held out a hand. "I'll see you in detention then?"  
  
Ron looked at the hand for a moment, then took it and shook it once. "Detention, then." 


	8. The Mark of War

Thanks to all who are reading faithfully. I hope there are more out there enjoying it than are currently reviewing. If your read this, please review, let me know what you think. I'm addicted to reviews-even bad ones.  
  
Note to Jadesky: Ew! As if! Picture me vomiting at the very idea! I am a huge fan of Remus and have absolutely no compunction to write him, picture him, fantasize about him, as anything but straight. No offense to any gay readers. But Remus? I don't think so. Sirius? No way in Hades. Behold, I giveth unto thee Remus. Read on!  
  
Note to Black Dragon: I hope you don't lose interest as a result, but Harry is not the hero of this story, for the reason that I hate to step on JK's toes, as it were. I'd really rather have the satisfaction of reading her version of Harry's story, not writing my own.  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT: The Mark of War  
  
Detention proved to be a doubly bitter pill. Ron had not only failed to win easily, but both players had to endure the rage of both Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall who had forced them to quit playing before the game was finished. McGonagall confiscated their chessmen and made them wait while she conferred quietly with Professor Snape.  
  
Roxanne knew they were in for it when she saw the nasty gleam in Professor Snape's eye as he called them over. Even Professor McGonagall seemed to be stifling a satisfied smile, as if she'd just heard a wickedly funny, but highly inappropriate joke.  
  
"You will both report to my classroom Monday morning," she began, "immediately after breakfast. You will help me with my sixth-year classes- we're beginning human transfiguration-" at these words a look of horror smeared Ron's face, turning it redder than his hair. Professor McGonagall did not need to finish, but she seemed more than delighted to do it. "-and I need some willing subjects for them to practice upon."  
  
"B-But, Professor!" stammered Ron. "I've got Divination-" It was a lame excuse since he'd really almost rather be anywhere than Divination.  
  
But Professor McGonagall was undaunted. "Nice try, Mr. Weasley. I'll speak with Professor Trelawney myself."  
  
Roxanne had no excuses. She knew by the look in Professor Snape's eye that he would be more than willing to sacrifice her services in potions that day.  
  
**********  
  
While being transformed into some fair facsimile of a sheep by a group of unpracticed sixth-years had been plenty humiliating (several of the Slytherins thought it funny to do a sloppy job), it was nothing to the whole school knowing about it. A loud chorus of bleating greeted Ron when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. Roxanne decided to skip breakfast altogether. She'd been able to let the jeers of the students roll off her back easily enough, but the merry tittering of the teachers had been quite more than she could take. Instead Roxanne begged some toast from the elves in the kitchen (leaving with a large breakfast neatly wrapped in a napkin), walked out onto the grounds and sat on a rock that jutted out from under the roots of a tree at the edge of the forest. She leaned back against the smooth trunk and ate, picked really, at her breakfast. It wasn't the detention that bothered her, or Ron's growing obsession with beating her at chess, so much as the Malfoy boy. He'd been there, lurking in the shadows at the back of Professor McGonagall's room, sniggering silently at her. In fact, since she and Ron's first chess game she seemed to see him everywhere. He was nearly a copy of his parents-his mother's distasteful face and his father's disdainful, contemptuous attitude. She couldn't decided whether he was purposefully following her, or it if just seemed so-a string of coincidences-or if she'd only just begun to take notice of him.  
  
But Mr. Weasley's warning from last summer gnawed at her. Still, she decided she'd better be certain Draco was up to something before she reported it to Professor McGonagall.  
  
Roxanne checked her watch-she needed to be in Professor Moody's classroom in ten minutes-and, throwing the remains of her breakfast to the giant squid, started for the castle. After yesterday she thought it best to avoid another detention-especially from Professor Moody. She imagined him demonstrating hexes on her to the glee of the fourth-years and shuddered.  
  
But there was Draco Malfoy again, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual, standing near Hagrid's cabin. A large group of kids made their way to the same spot-obviously for one of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons She decided she was being paranoid and quickened her pace up the steps. Draco Malfoy watched her until she disappeared into the castle.  
  
**********  
  
Classes on Halloween day were nearly pointless. As usual Snape's class failed to reflect the mood of the rest of the school, but Professor Flitwick more than made up for it. He taught all his classes how to suspend Jack o' lanterns in mid air, and even how to get them to follow someone about like some ghoulish headless horseman joke.  
  
Fred and George Weasley made the most of their last Hogwarts Halloween, trying out dozens of new prank and joke inventions. The closer they came to graduating the more serious they became about opening their own joke shop-and no one doubted they'd be a huge success. The feast that night was as grand as ever and dazzled Roxanne who had never seen anything of its like in her entire life. She noticed Professor Snape had decided to skip the feast. Although he was the epitome of frightening to many of the students and thus fit perfectly into the whole Halloween atmosphere, Roxanne dismissed his absence, deciding Snape just wasn't the party type.  
  
Bill Weasley showed up, though. And after greeting his brothers and sister warmly and sending his mother's regards to Harry and Hermione, sat at the end of the head table next to Roxanne.  
  
"Your hair-it's longer, isn't it?" he asked, leaning back to get a better look at her smooth shoulder length masses of blond.  
  
"Mm. I found a hair-growing potion. I thought I'd give it a try. Do you like it?"  
  
"It'd be much nicer if it were red," he teased, pointing to his own hair, which hung loose about his shoulders. "Mum sends her best."  
  
Roxanne smiled. "Will you tell her 'hello' for me?"  
  
"Tell her yourself-you know how to use an owl, don't you?"  
  
"I've never actually done it, but I think I get the general idea. She wouldn't mind me writing her?" she asked.  
  
"Who? Mother Hen Molly? No way! She's actually a bit put out that one of her little chicks hasn't written yet," he said eyeing her.  
  
"Me?" Roxanne laughed.  
  
"Yup. You've slept in our house-that makes you one of the family."  
  
Roxanne laughed again. "I'll send her a letter tomorrow."  
  
**********  
  
Harry Potter woke with a start. He instinctively reached for his scar and rubbed at it, but there was no pain. Just an odd feeling that something wasn't right. They'd all been up late celebrating Halloween the night before. Luckily it had been on a Friday, so all of Gryffindor tower, Harry judged by the silence, were enjoying a good lie-in. Ron and the others in Harry's room snored away as the morning sunshine began creeping in the eastern window.  
  
Harry dressed quietly in jeans and a t-shirt, then got up to leave, but deciding he'd feel better with his wand, he dug through the robe he'd dropped onto his dresser the night before until he found it.  
  
"Harry?" said Ron blearily behind him. "What's up?"  
  
"Sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to wake you."  
  
"Where are you going?" Ron yawned, sitting up.  
  
"I'm going to see Professor Dumbledore," Harry replied.  
  
Ron was wide-awake now, worry on his face as he looked Harry up and down. "Are you OK? Is it your scar?"  
  
"No. I'm fine. It's just-" Harry stopped. He couldn't quite put a finger on what he felt in his gut. "I had a dream. I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right."  
  
"Give me a minute," said Ron. "I'll come with you."  
  
"No. That's all right. I'll see you at breakfast."  
  
**********  
  
Harry met Professor Dumbledore coming out of his office.  
  
"Harry! You're up early," said Dumbledore with his familiar searching look.  
  
"Professor," said Harry, not sure where to begin, "I-I had a dream-"  
  
"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore pointing to Harry's scar.  
  
"No," he said touching the scar automatically. "No. I'm fine. It was, well-it was dark. I saw Death Eaters-a whole gang of them." Harry paused, remembering. "I heard screaming. I think they were torturing someone. I couldn't see who. Then I saw-" his stomach turned as the image flashed across his mind, "I saw the Dark Mark-only it was dripping blood."  
  
Professor Dumbledore straightened. "Go on."  
  
"That's all, only-well-I've just got this feeling, like something's not right."  
  
"I've had the same feeling this morning," said Dumbledore quietly, furrowing his brow. "Let's hope your dream was only that."  
  
But Dumbledore returned immediately to his office, breakfast forgotten. Harry returned to Gryffindor tower where all was still quiet. Ron had gone back to sleep and Dean and Seamus were still fast asleep as well. But Neville was up, sitting on a wide windowsill, gazing out at the forest.  
  
"Morning Neville," said Harry climbing up beside him. "Can't sleep?"  
  
Neville shook his head without looking at Harry. "I wonder what Hagrid's doing in the forest," Neville said.  
  
Harry looked at him puzzled.  
  
"Out there," said Neville pointing out the window.  
  
Harry looked out to see a thin ribbon of smoke rising out of the trees. He gasped. "It's dark in the forest," he whispered.  
  
"Don't remind me," said Neville who had not gone any closer to the forest than had been absolutely necessary since his night of terrifying detention in his first year.  
  
But Harry was gone. He'd jumped to the floor and sprinted for the door before Neville could finish.  
  
**********  
  
Professor Dumbledore was still in his office when Harry came in breathing hard from his mad dash through the castle.  
  
"Professor-" he gasped. "Smoke-over the forest!"  
  
Dumbledore was at his window. "Yes, I see it," he said quickly. "Harry, how are your legs?"  
  
"My legs?"  
  
"I need you to run, Harry, as fast as you can to Hagrid's cabin. You'll find Remus and Sirius there. Tell the three of them to search the forest, then stay there, Harry. Go! GO!"  
  
Harry didn't hesitate. He ran for all he was worth, skipping stairs and dashing blindly around corners. He was grateful the halls were nearly empty. He ignored the burning in his lungs and ran faster, slowing only long enough to haul the heavy front doors open. He leaped down the stone steps and dashed across the lawn to Hagrid's cabin.  
  
Harry slipped on the wet grass, nearly falling as he ground to a halt before Hagrid's door. He pounded frantically on it, too out of breath to call out. He could hear hurried footsteps inside. He imagined Sirius, not knowing who was knocking, transforming into the now-familiar black dog that Harry had once feared.  
  
Hagrid opened the door a thin crack, but spying Harry flung it open and pulled him inside. Remus Lupin, Harry's former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and an old friend of his father's, was seated at the table, a large black dog on the floor beside him.  
  
"Harry?" said Remus standing, suddenly alarmed by the panic in Harry's eyes.  
  
Harry waited for his godfather to transform using the pause to catch his breath enough to be able to speak.  
  
The moment Sirius could he was across the room. "Harry, what is it?"  
  
"Dumbledore sent me. Something's happened. He wants you-all of you-to search the forest."  
  
"The forest? What's happened?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I had a dream. Sirius, I think someone's been attacked." Harry's voice was urgent now.  
  
Sirius, Remus and Hagrid looked at each other for just a moment before Hagrid went for his moleskin overcoat and crossbow. Remus and Sirius threw on their cloaks and pulled out their wands.  
  
"Harry," said Sirius warningly, "stay right here until one of us comes back for you! Fang, stay here and watch out for Harry," he said to Hagrid's enormous boarhound. And the three slipped out the back door and into the forest.  
  
**********  
  
The forest was silent. The three men knew the forest well, but the unnatural silence was alarming, especially for Hagrid who knew it best. The deeper into the tangle of trees they went the darker it became, and the deeper their feeling of foreboding.  
  
Sirius transformed back into a dog and snuffed the air. He could smell an acrid smoke coming from somewhere off in the misty dimness and barking loudly, lunged off toward it. Hagrid and Remus did their best to keep up, calling ahead when they lost sight of him, signaling him to wait. They jogged deep into the blackest part of the forest where the trees grew so thick and dense overhead that little sunlight penetrated to the black earth beneath their feet.  
  
Hagrid and Remus could hear Sirius barking somewhere ahead, an urgent continuous bark that did not stop until they stepped through a line of trees into a small clearing. They could see a small fire pit there, still smoldering. The grass and shrubs had been trampled down and short lengths of rope were strewn here and there.  
  
But Sirius, a man again, was calling to them anxiously. He was pointing up at the dense canopy of tree limbs. There, hung by a rope, and almost invisible against the dark leaves and branches, was what appeared to be a large black bundle. But Remus gasped. Sticking out of the top of the bundle, bound tightly by coils of heavy rope, were two feet-human feet.  
  
"We've got to get him down," shouted Remus urgently. "Ill cut the rope. Sirius?"  
  
"I'll slow him down. Hagrid?"  
  
"I'll do the catchin' then." Hagrid's voice trembled slightly.  
  
They took their positions. Hagrid stepped directly underneath the body, his foot splashing in a small dark pool.  
  
"There's blood here!" he shouted, his voice rising in alarm.  
  
"Steady, Hagrid. We've got to hurry." Sirius raised his wand. "On 'three.' One-two-THREE!"  
  
Sirius and Remus roared their spells at once. The rope was severed by a blast of red light from Lupin's wand and the body drifted gently down into Hagrid's waiting arms. He dropped to one knee as Remus and Sirius bounded to him. They pulled back the cloak the body was wrapped in. Hagrid gasped. Remus placed his fingers on the neck and felt for a pulse. The skin was pale and cold to the touch, the face and hair streaked with blood.  
  
"Hagrid?" said Sirius, stepping back. "Who is she?"  
  
"Roxanne Stewart," breathed Hagrid. He searched Remus' grim expression. "Is she dead?"  
  
"No Hagrid. She's alive. But only just. Sirius-"  
  
"Pick up Harry on your way in," Sirius said before transforming again and bounding off through the forest toward Hogwarts.  
  
Hagrid was near tears.  
  
"Hagrid," said Remus gently, "we've got to get her to the castle if she stands any chance at all-quickly."  
  
Hagrid nodded. Lifting her limp body easily, he stood and lumbered off after Sirius.  
  
Remus remained behind for a few minutes, circling the clearing, then crossing it, scanning the ground as he went, before following Hagrid's trail through the trees.  
  
**********  
  
Harry jumped at the urgent knock at Hagrid's door. Fang barked once and, sensing Harry's uncertainty, promptly scrambled under Hagrid's bed.  
  
"Who's there?" called Harry, pulling his wand from his cloak.  
  
"Harry, it's Remus!" Harry opened the door quickly and Remus grasped his shoulder and pulled him out, urging him toward the castle before Harry could question him. But the urgency in Remus' eyes told Harry it was best to run now. There would be time for asking questions later.  
  
Harry looked ahead as they sprinted over the grass and saw Hagrid carrying a body up the stone steps. He broke his stride for just a step or two. Remus did not wait for him, so he rushed on. They flung open the great front door with a crash for Hagrid to pass through, then hurried on through the castle amid the curious stares and whispers of students milling in and out of the Great Hall for breakfast.  
  
The nearer they came to the hospital wing, the heavier grew the stone that had lodged itself in Harry's stomach. He could go no further. He stopped dead.  
  
"What is it Harry?" panted Remus. "Are you all right?"  
  
Harry gulped. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask the question. "Wh-where's Sirius?"  
  
"He should be in the hospital wing waiting for us."  
  
"Then who is that?" he asked, pointing towards the back of Hagrid as it disappeared through the infirmary door.  
  
Remus nodded with understanding. "It's not Sirius. It's a woman. Hagrid seemed to know her. Said her name is Roxanne."  
  
"Roxanne Stewart?" Harry asked incredulous.  
  
"Yes. You know her?"  
  
"She's-Well, Ron knows her better than me. She's a student here." Harry looked towards the hospital wing door. Now that his fear for Sirius' safety was calmed, he felt torn between his desire to see his godfather and his reluctance to see what horror lay behind that door.  
  
"She's the American? Hagrid was telling us about her last night. This'll no doubt be-" But he was interrupted by a shout from down the hall. Professor Dumbledore was calling and waving them inside. Remus put an arm on Harry's shoulder and they went in together.  
  
**********  
  
Sirius stood just inside the door, out of sight of any passersby. Harry ran to him and they embraced fiercely, relieved to find each other safe. A large curtain was pulled around a bed at the far end of the room, the shadows of Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall bustling behind it. Harry could see their feet, as well as smears of blood on the floor beneath it. Hagrid sat on another bed, his face blank with shock, his coat blotched with large red stains.  
  
Harry sat silently, waiting. Professor Dumbledore and Remus whispered quietly in a corner. Sirius paced sullenly, rubbing his stubbly chin. Sounds of tearing fabric and urgent whispers crackled from behind the screen, jolting them like static electricity. A loud gasp brought their heads whipping around to see Professor McGonagall leaning into view.  
  
"Albus-" she breathed, her face white and lined with worry. The Headmaster crossed the floor quickly and disappeared behind the curtain. The others crossed the floor, coming in closer to hear.  
  
"Wake her, Poppy," Dumbledore commanded.  
  
"But Albus-" she began. "Oh, all right," she whispered, exasperated.  
  
Harry waited, listening, a chill passing over his skull and down his back. He shivered. Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. They heard a scraping noise as the shadow of Professor Dumbledore slid a stool next to the head of the bed and seated himself on it.  
  
A heavy, screeching gasp told them Roxanne had regained consciousness, and her panicked cries told of her pain. Dumbledore whispered soothingly to her and her screams subsided to gasping, rattled breathing. Harry strained to hear, but Dumbledore continued speaking in whispers, Roxanne answering even more quietly.  
  
All eyes were on Dumbledore when he finally emerged from behind the curtain, his shoulders drooping, his pale blue eyes clouded.  
  
"Perfesser," gulped Hagrid, "is she-will she be-"  
  
"I do not know. Madame Pomfrey is doing everything she can for her. I believe it is as you suspected Remus-some type of poison. Whatever it is, it is blocking Madame Pomfrey's attempts to heal her wounds. The spots on the ground were black, Remus?"  
  
"Blacker than black. I've never seen anything quite like it.," said Remus quietly.  
  
"What did they do to her, Professor," asked Harry. Dumbledore looked at him and the lines on his face deepened.  
  
"Harry, maybe you should go," said Sirius quickly at the sight of Dumbledore's grave look.  
  
"No, Sirius. I see no use in keeping this, or anything, from Harry. He is as much a part of this, even more so, as any of us." Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing. "She was only able to tell me a little. Death Eaters. A wizard with a silver hand-"  
  
"Pettigrew," spat Sirius. Dumbledore went on as if he hadn't heard.  
  
"She was dragged into the forest and attacked, tortured. She recognized only two of them. Lucius Malfoy-"  
  
"I knew it! I knew it! I knew tha' snake'd have summat to do wi' this," hissed Hagrid.  
  
Dumbledore held up his hand to silence the grumbles of agreement. "And Severus Snape."  
  
"Snape!" shouted Sirius, who was hushed loudly. "I was right. You should never have trusted him!" he growled quietly.  
  
"I still trust Severus with my life, Sirius. If it had not been for him," Dumbledore said levelly over the top of his spectacles, "she would likely be dead. She was most insistent that I understand this."  
  
"There's more," said Remus flatly, analyzing the darkness that clouded Dumbledore's eyes.  
  
"Yes. There is more." The Headmaster sighed deeply. "They carved the Dark Mark into the flesh of her back."  
  
Harry went very pale. Sirius cursed under his breath. Remus was comforting Hagrid who had broken into quiet sobs.  
  
"I don't understand," began Harry. "Why?  
  
"It's Malfoy," spat Hagrid angrily. "She made him angry once, and to get his cowardly revenge he had his Death Eater pals do her in."  
  
"There's much more to it than that, Hagrid," explained Dumbledore. "True, Lucius most certainly relished the opportunity to make her pay for her moment of foolishness. But it seems the purpose of the attack was to send a message. Roxanne was most upset that she had failed me, had forgotten the message Lucius Malfoy commanded her to bring me. I assured her the message had been clear-it is written in blood on her back. The Death Eaters have declared war."  
  
"Without Voldemort?" asked Harry.  
  
"I have no doubt they were under Voldemort's orders. Now that he is back in power, I doubt they have the courage, or the strength, to do anything unless he commands it." 


	9. Lucius Malfoy's Revenge

Thanks to my growing mob of groupies. I'm eternally grateful for the wonderful reviews. I'd be even more grateful for some well-constructed criticism-I'm working on improving my craft for much more than just fanfiction. Pointing out my faults is the best way to help me do that.  
  
Note to Joyce: It's rated PG-13 for a reason. And it's not over yet.  
  
CHAPTER NINE: Lucius Malfoy's Revenge  
  
By dinnertime, the Great Hall buzzed with whispered rumors and wild speculation. The Hufflepuffs were certain of a werewolf attack. The Ravenclaws heard that a unicorn had gored someone. The Gryffindors, though still not able to say for certain what had happened, at least knew who the victim was and debated heatedly over whether Roxanne survived or not. The Slytherins ignored everyone else and sniggered coldly at their table.  
  
Harry spent the day in hiding from the relentless stream of questions that Dumbledore had asked him not to answer. Sirius had asked that he not leave the castle. Under the circumstances Harry was more than willing to comply. He, Ron, and Hermione hid in the one place they knew no one else would venture-Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.  
  
The three of them, having finally emerged, entered the Great Hall for dinner, waded through the hushed whispers, and took their seats just as Professor Dumbledore stood and called for everyone's attention.  
  
"Before we begin this evening," he began heavily, "I feel it necessary to explain events of this morning." The hall was totally silent, all eyes on Dumbledore. "A student has been attacked. We are certain the attack was perpetrated by a gathering of Death Eaters deep within the Forbidden Forest. The victim is alive, but still in very grave danger. Your parents have been notified. It is likely many of you will be leaving us."  
  
The hall hummed with whispers. Dumbledore held up his hands for silence to return.  
  
"Be assured that those who leave will be welcomed back after the danger has passed. Hogwarts will remain open," he said firmly before sitting down. Dinner was hushed, plates left mostly full, the food only picked at and shoved around on the plates.  
  
At the back of the Slytherin table Draco Malfoy and his gang seemed to be celebrating, doing their best to keep the volume down--only out of deference to stern looks from the head table--and eating hungrily. Ron glared at Draco. "He's got something to do with this," he hissed. "I'll bet my chess set on it."  
  
"I think so, too," whispered Harry.  
  
"Well it's obvious, isn't it," said Hermione testily. "Look at him. I wouldn't be surprised if he was there!"  
  
Fred leaned over. "He wasn't there."  
  
Harry started. "What do you mean?"  
  
"George and I saw him last night. When Bill and Roxanne left. Draco followed them. So we followed him. We figured he was up to no good."  
  
"Have you told this to Dumbledore?" whispered Harry.  
  
"That's what George is doing right now," he said pointing to the head table, where indeed they saw George talking quietly with Dumbledore who nodded gravely at George's words.  
  
"Did he go into the forest?" asked Ron.  
  
"No. We followed him all the way to Hogsmeade. He had that ugly eagle owl of his on his arm. He's such an idiot, he never spotted us. He waited until Roxanne started back for the school, then sent that owl off. It was too dark to see which way it went. It must've gone into the forest, though. Draco went back to the Slytherin common room after that."  
  
"He could have snuck out later," observed Hermione.  
  
"I don't think so," said Fred. "I heard Draco complaining to Crabbe this morning -seems Crabbe overdid it at the feast last night. Kept Draco up all night. Serves him right, the git."  
  
George came up and sat heavily next to Ron. "We should've said something last night," he said pounding his fist on the table.  
  
"There's no way you could've know something like this would happen," said Harry.  
  
"That's what Dumbledore said," George replied. "But I just can't help thinking we could've stopped it."  
  
"They'd have just found another way; someone else even," soothed Hermione.  
  
"There's only one thing to do," said George after a pause. "We'll have to keep a close eye on Draco Malfoy from now on. You with me?"  
  
The others nodded determinedly.  
  
"Definitely," scowled Ron.  
  
**********  
  
"Roxanne. Roxanne, try to wake up." Roxanne's eye fluttered open. Her lids felt heavy and she blinked slowly several times, Her eyes refused to focus and she felt too weak to move or speak. Her mind struggled to clear itself, but the only result was pain, blinding pain that consumed her like wildfire.  
  
She trembled. A tear rolled down her cheek. She longed for the bliss that unconsciousness had been, but a voice kept calling her back to the world, to the pain.  
  
"Roxanne. It's Professor Dumbledore. You must drink this." Dumbledore gingerly slid his hand beneath her head and lifted it slightly, pressing the cool glass of a vial to her lips. "Drink this, Roxanne-all of it."  
  
He poured a shimmering, pearl-white liquid into her mouth a small sip at a time. It felt cool and soothing on her tongue, and seemed to quench the fire within her as it passed into her bloodstream and flowed swiftly to her aching limbs and into her foggy brain. With a deep sigh she closed her eyes again and slipped into a deep sleep.  
  
**********  
  
The hospital wing was brightly lit with sunshine streaming in through the high windows when Roxanne woke. She could see Madame Pomfrey bustling about in her office, but the curtain that still stood at the other side of her bed hid the remainder of the hospital wing. Most of the pain was gone, as long as she didn't move. Her back burned. Her muscles ached. Her hands were tightly wrapped in thick bandages. Movement made the pain nearly unbearable. So she lay still and closed her eyes again. But her mind instantly filled with flashes of a terror-filled night in the forest.  
  
She thought of the man with the silver hand, his small rat-like face, balding head, beady eyes. He was not a big man, but the silver hand was strong and he refused to release his grip on her throat. She fumbled frantically for her wand, but he forced it from her hand as she coughed out an unpracticed jinx, the weak bolt of red light shooting uselessly into the ground. He said nothing to her, but went about his task as if anxious for it to be done.  
  
Despite her desperate struggle, he'd managed to drag her a few steps into the forest where he met another. She was thrown to the ground, gagged, wrists bound tightly in front of her, the rope cutting into her skin as she worked to free herself. She could see the lights of Hogwarts flickering through the trees. The more exhausted she grew in her fight, the more desperately far away the castle seemed.  
  
The silver handed man gave Roxanne's wand to his new companion.  
  
"You are not worthy of this wand," he said venomously. "Nor was your father. This is the wand of a Slytherin-it is better destroyed than defiled." And he snapped the wand in half and flung the pieces into the forest.  
  
They dragged her deep into the trees, kicking her viciously when she tripped in the dark tangle under her feet. They walked on and on, Roxanne breathing hard in her ever-rising panic, through dense brush and black trees, the low branches slashing at her face and pulling at her cloak. Her legs felt numb and trembly. She knew if she fell again she'd get another beating. So she did her best to keep her feet. But the longer they walked the more she seemed to stumble.  
  
Finally, she caught a glimpse of light ahead-a cold flicker of white firelight. Silhouetted against the fire she saw tall black figures in a small clearing in the trees, a column of acrid blue smoke rising into the blackness above. The black figures stood waiting in a ring around the fire. Her two captors pushed her through the ring where she tripped forward and fell heavily. The man with the silver hand followed, picked her up roughly, removed the gag and backed into a gap in the circle. A cauldron bubbled, spitting something black that hissed in the fire below.  
  
There were at least thirty of them, all with ghostly white masks, all with wands drawn. Roxanne circled the cauldron, struggling to keep her feet, looking into the blank menacing faces with wide panicked eyes.  
  
"Wh-Who are you!?"  
  
A tall slender wizard strode slowly toward her and stood in front of her with his feet set wide apart.  
  
"We are called Death Eaters. We serve the Dark Lord," he said coldly.  
  
Roxanne's eyes grew wider. She knew that voice though she'd heard it only once before.  
  
"Malfoy," she breathed.  
  
"Very good, Miss Stewart," he said removing the mask and smiling sinisterly at her. "I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you could join our little party." He circled around behind her, reached up and stroked her hair-once, twice-as she tensed against the cold touch. Swiftly he took a great handful of it, entwining his fingers in the long strands, yanked her head back, hard, exposing her neck, and leaned very close until his lips touched her ear. "I intend to finish this tonight," he whispered, drawing his wand tip across her throat.  
  
"But first," he said stepping back and raising his voice for all to hear, "you should know your purpose here. Our master desires to extend his power to all corners of the wizard world, and you have been chosen to deliver a message for him."  
  
Malfoy snapped his fingers in the air.  
  
"Crucio!" bellowed a voice from behind her. And before she could turn to at least face her attacker, a bolt of white-hot blinding pain pierced her body, knocking her off her feet and leaving her writhing on the ground. She couldn't breathe to scream, not that it would have done her any good trapped so deep in the forest-outnumbered, defenseless.  
  
The pain stopped abruptly. She lay gasping, afraid to move, hoping desperately to wake up, to find it had been some insanely terrifying dream.  
  
Malfoy snapped again.  
  
"Crucio!" bellowed another voice.  
  
Again and again they attacked, taking turns, talking and laughing as if they were having drinks at the club. Roxanne struggled to rise each time, determined now to die standing. Blood was streaming down her hands as the ropes cut deeper into her wrists. Cold and exhausted she shivered uncontrollably, but stubbornly struggled to her feet again, standing defiantly between each onslaught on unsteady legs.  
  
Malfoy moved in front of her again, his wand tapping lazily against his leg. "I'd have wagered you'd be begging for mercy by now," he drawled.  
  
"Wh-What good would it do me," she stammered quietly.  
  
"So, you can read minds as well, eh?" he said strutting around her, surveying her mockingly. "Perhaps if you crawled at my feet and kissed the hem of my robe, I would spare you more pain."  
  
"Perhaps I would get my knees dirty for nothing."  
  
Malfoy laughed. "Perhaps. But I do so wish for you to bow before me." Malfoy raised his wand, placing the tip directly over her heart. "Imperio!" he snarled loudly.  
  
A feeling of peaceful bliss filled her mind and body. The pain disappeared, the shaking and cold melted away. She could think of nothing but a distant voice, which said, "Kneel before me. Kneel before me. Kneel before me." It resonated throughout her body.  
  
"No!" she heard herself shout. And the pain and shaking returned with a rush. She fell to her knees. 'Thank you, Professor Moody," she thought, then stood again defiantly and steadied herself. Steeling all the courage she had left, she looked coldly into Malfoy's eyes and spit in his face.  
  
Roxanne knew what was coming next. She was ready to die. Malfoy wiped the blood-tinged sputum from his face with the corner of another Death Eater's robe. The veins throbbed in his neck and forehead. His face was red with rage. His eyes flickered dangerously as he circled once around her and faced her again. Quickly, before Roxanne had a chance to steel herself, he drew his hand back and smacked her with all his force, leaving a jagged cut on her cheek.  
  
She spun and fell heavily to her hands and knees. Malfoy was on her again, in two long strides. He stepped on her still-bound wrists, pinning her to the ground with his heavy healed boot, pressing his weight into her already raw flesh, crushing the bones in her hands. Roxanne screamed through gritted teeth. She tried to ignore the taunts flying at her from all around. The Death Eater's excitement rose with each passing moment, as if her pain fed their malice. They were thirsty for blood, eager to inflict pain, hungry for death. Their whispers became louder. They shouted suggestions to Malfoy, each more vile than the last.  
  
But Lucius had his plan, approved by his master of course, and he was bent on fulfilling it. He scowled down at her, a wicked grin playing at his mouth.  
  
"That's better," he sneered, as Roxanne's struggles weakened and she finally lay still under his foot.  
  
"Crucio!" she heard him bellow, and the pain in her wrists and hands was lost in the agony that swallowed her. She struggled to breathe, tried to will the curse away, tried to let her mind drift. But the pain won, consuming her every thought, eating at her mind. She retched, vomiting up a pool of bile and blood. On and on it went until at last her body could take no more, and with a rushing sound that filled her head, she slipped into oblivion.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne could feel herself being lifted, felt her cloak and robe being ripped from her body, felt herself being dragged, hung, bound. She could feel the rough bark of a tree on her face and chest, could feel her arms stretched tightly around the massive trunk, with ropes snaking around her neck and shoulders and legs. Her crushed hands felt as if they were being torn slowly from her arms. Even if her body had been capable of responding to her commands, she could not have moved against the tight cords.  
  
She felt hands testing the ropes, felt the pull as they were tightened even more. She opened her eyes and swallowed against the bitter salty taste of blood in her mouth, straining to see around her. A Death Eater standing nearby edged closer, pulled at the ropes again and began to whisper low, so the others couldn't hear.  
  
"Roxanne. It's Snape," he said quickly from behind the mask.  
  
Roxanne's eyes grew wide with shock and surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, to curse him, but he hissed urgently, "The end is near. You must understand, I could do nothing to stop this." He glanced furtively around him. "But I promise you, I will do all in my power to save your life."  
  
He disappeared behind her. She struggled uselessly to see where he had gone, to assure herself that what she'd just heard was real. But he was gone and now Lucius Malfoy was there pressing himself against her, grinding the side of her head into the tree.  
  
"What did he say to you?" he whispered threateningly into her ear.  
  
Thinking as fast as her sluggish mind would allow, Roxanne guessed that Snape could be in danger if Malfoy knew that he planned to help her. Roxanne stammered weakly, "He-He said, he couldn't wait for it to be-to be his turn."  
  
Malfoy smiled. "Really? Well, we shall have to let him have his turn, then." He stepped back so she could see his sneering face. "Wormtail! Bring the cauldron," he commanded someone outside her view.  
  
The cauldron was brought, by the man with the silver hand, and placed at Malfoy's feet. Malfoy reached into his robes and withdrew a long silver dagger-shining and sharp, its cold steel kris blade snaked from the silver handle molded in the form of a snake's head with tiny glimmering emerald eyes.  
  
He smiled at her look of fear and pressed the blade against her cheek, cutting into her skin.  
  
"Enjoying yourself?" he taunted, pressing the dagger deeper into the flesh. "I know I am."  
  
He withdrew the blade quickly, stepped back and snapped his finger again. A wizard came forward and took the dagger from Malfoy, dipped the blade into the horribly black liquid in the cauldron, then stepped behind Roxanne. She felt the pull and heard the ripping sound as her shirt was torn open at the back, the cold of the night lifting the tiny hairs on her skin. She shuddered and gritted her teeth, waiting for the blade to run her through, hoping she would die quickly, forgetting Snape's promise in her panic.  
  
She felt the blade touch, stinging and burning as it sliced into her skin in a long snaking curve down her back. She felt the blood begin to stream down, heard Malfoy call for another, saw him come forward and re-dip the dagger, heard herself screaming, begging for them to stop, calling into the blackness for help she knew would not come, until the blackness closed in and swallowed her.  
  
**********  
  
The sun still streamed in through the infirmary windows. But its warmth could not take the chill from Roxanne's heart. She shuddered, tried to clench her useless fists, grimacing with the pain, forcing her mind away from the images and memories pressing in upon her. She tried to rise, but every movement brought agony, and she cried out in her pain and frustration.  
  
Madame Pomfrey rushed to her, followed by a gaunt looking wizard who'd appeared from inside her office.  
  
"You must be still, Miss Stewart," she commanded gruffly. "Remus, fetch me some pillows." The wizard silently did as he was told, then helped Madame Pomfrey gently prop Roxanne up on them as she gasped at the pain, crying out for them to stop, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Madame Pomfrey bustled around her, checking her pulse, peaking under her bandages, feeling her forehead, wiping her face soothingly with a cool cloth as Roxanne panted heavily. Remus, who had stepped away for a moment returned with a steaming cup of broth and a spoon.  
  
Finally Madame Pomfrey disappeared behind the curtains and could be heard leaving the hospital wing. Roxanne's breathing slowed. She watched Lupin stirring the broth, waiting for her to relax.  
  
"Here we go," Remus said holding the spoon to her mouth. "You must be quite hungry."  
  
Roxanne shook her head but sipped the broth obediently. It tasted good after all, washing the foul taste from her mouth. She didn't know how long it had been since she left Bill at Hogsmeade. And as her anxious thoughts subsided, she became aware of her keen hunger.  
  
She emptied nearly half the cup before closing her eyes to rest a minute. Remus gently wiped away drops of broth from her chin and waited patiently until she was ready for more. She drew a deep painful breath, then opened her eyes and looked at him. He was young despite the gray in his hair and had a kindly look about his face.  
  
"Excuse me," she whispered, "who are you?"  
  
He looked at her, surprised. "Sorry. I'd forgotten we've not actually met. Remus Lupin. I'm a friend of Professor Dumbledore."  
  
Satisfied for the moment Roxanne took several more spoonfuls, staring at the ceiling, before speaking again.  
  
"Who found me?"  
  
He looked at her carefully, considering how much to tell. "Hagrid and Sirius and I," he began slowly. "Harry played a part as well. Hagrid'll be happy to see you awake-he hasn't been able to teach his classes he's been so worried."  
  
"Thanks," she said quietly, looking him squarely in the eyes. But that was all she could manage before looking away and swallowing hard, fighting to keep the ache in her heart from bursting into sobs that she knew would cause more pain. Remus wiped her face with the cloth again and went silently back to feeding her.  
  
**********  
  
Madame Pomfrey returned with Professor Dumbledore and another wizard Roxanne did not recognize. He was handsome, but fierce-looking, like a cornered wolf, and looked gravely at her as he came around the screen. Roxanne noted the contrast between him and Lupin. She could almost imagine the newcomer out there in the forest tormenting her, but decided he would never have been cowardly enough to hide behind a mask.  
  
Hagrid came as well, his head bobbing well above the top of the screen, relief washing over his face when he saw her awake and alert. "I brough' summat fer ye," he said producing a large bunch of flowers, dwarfed by his huge hands, from behind his back.  
  
"Thanks Hagrid," she said, "for everything."  
  
Hagrid nodded, eyes glistening. "Don' you make me have to do summat like that again, young lady," he said sternly, pointing a sausage sized finger at her.  
  
"I don't imagine she plans to, Hagrid," said the Headmaster. "Nevertheless, I believe this will help. He held up a long gold chain with a small crystal globe suspended from it. The globe was threaded with thin lines of gold that coiled from the top to the bottom. Inside the globe sat a tiny object that resembled a top. "It's from Professor Snape."  
  
"Snape? Is he here?" she asked anxiously.  
  
"No. I'm afraid not."  
  
"I saw him. He said he would save my life."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you've said."  
  
But Roxanne couldn't remember telling Dumbledore anything. Her last recollection was falling into darkness and feeling the tickle of blood trickling down her back. She looked at the ball again. "What is it?"  
  
"A Sneakoscope. I've never seen one so small-or so beautiful. Apparently it is meant to hang around your neck, so you can have it with you always. I have several myself-a useful little invention. It spins and lights up when it senses deception nearby. It seems Severus means to keep you alive now that he's saved your life," Dumbledore smiled, placing it over her head.  
  
"Roxanne," he said pointing towards the fierce-looking wizard, "I'd like to introduce you to Sirius Black." Black nodded curtly. "I see you've met Remus." Lupin nodded pleasantly.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, his expression shifting from pleasant to grave. "I regret asking it of you, but it is important we hear the entire story."  
  
Roxanne closed her eyes. She couldn't escape the images that swam in her head. In a way, she felt that if she spoke of them they would come charging into the room and drag her back into the forest, to finish the job the Death Eaters had started. But Dumbledore was there. He would protect her. He could fend them off. She nodded once and began.  
  
Dumbledore, Lupin and Black sat transfixed, carefully absorbing every detail, asking questions and clarifying Roxanne's uncertainties, waiting patiently for her to re-gather her strength at frequent intervals. They filled in events that Roxanne had missed while in the forest. She learned of being followed to Hogsmeade by Draco Malfoy and explained that she felt he had been following her around the school for quite some time. Dumbledore nodded at this, but said nothing.  
  
Hagrid paced the floor, fuming quietly, gasping and grumbling at the particularly horrible spots. Roxanne learned of Harry's dream, her rescue, and the white potion-another gift sent to Dumbledore by Professor Snape. It had weakened the effects of the black poison that still threatened her life hours after the rescue. Finally, reluctantly, Dumbledore told of the Dark Mark carved into her back, the blackness seeping permanently into her flesh, visible despite the ugly red scars. Nothing Madame Pomfrey knew of would remove those scars, or the pain. The poison, though no longer life threatening, still seemed to interfere with Madame Pomfrey's magical remedies. She would have to heal slowly, on her own. No one knew for how long.  
  
Roxanne trembled, staring at the ceiling as tears rolled into her hair. She'd heard enough, said enough. She was drained. But she felt relieved to have it said-as if the telling transferred part of the burden to the listeners. They shared it all now. She did not need to carry it alone. The pain in her back became distracting and she whispered hoarsely, "Please. No more."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. Lupin's shoulders sagged. He stood and walked a few steps away, his back turned. He seemed more heavily weighted by his share of the burden than the others. Sirius went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Remus?"  
  
"I can't help thinking-what if it had been Harry?" Lupin whispered.  
  
"It wouldn't have been. Harry's smarter than that. He would never-" But Black knew he was wrong before he'd gotten it all out.  
  
"Wouldn't he? He hasn't got the best track record for staying out of trouble, has he."  
  
"He's just like we were-just like James," Sirius reasoned.  
  
"Yes, but the world's not exactly the same as it was then. Harry's not as free to be like we were," Lupin said slowly.  
  
Sirius nodded. "I know. But really, Remus. This never would have happened if she'd stayed in America where she belongs." He looked at Roxanne as she swallowed the last of the dreamless sleep potion Madame Pomfrey offered hopefully.  
  
Lupin turned and looked into Black's eyes. "She belongs at Hogwarts as well as any of us, Sirius," he said firmly.  
  
Black knew of Professor Dumbledore's policy of providing a chance at Hogwarts to anyone who showed talent, of his willingness to give anyone a chance to prove, or redeem, themselves. Because of Dumbledore Remus had gotten an education and eventually taught at Hogwarts. Sirius Black himself owed Dumbledore his very life. Hogwarts had become a refuge for many who had nowhere else to go.  
  
But Sirius' concerns were for his godson, Harry. To him nothing but Harry's safety mattered, and he viewed Roxanne's presence there as a threat to that safety. He felt that valuable time and resources were being wasted on her, and that she had brought trouble with her that threatened them all.  
  
But Remus was firm. "She belongs here." 


	10. Lupin's Request

I'm starting this chapter with a bit of ranting. I hope you all, and JK will forgive me. I'm sure I'll get over it.  
  
HOW COULD SHE DO THAT?!? I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE KILLED HIM!! AAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!  
  
There. Now I feel a little better.  
  
I'm going to let you in on a little secret-The Mark of War is complete. It has been for quite some time. It has even been published in its entirety on this website. I made the mistake of publishing the whole thing all at once and no one was reading it. I had maybe a half-dozen reviews. So, per the suggestion of one of my previous readers, I republished it a chapter at a time beginning a couple of months ago. Now, with the Order of the Phoenix out, and since we have both finished reading it-meaning you and I, since we are now both back to reading fanfiction-I must wonder exactly what the point of continuing is. First, because I am still so miffed with Rowling for what she did that I am currently not very interested in anything having to do with Harry Potter's world. Second, since my book takes place in the timeline of Harry's fifth year, and now we know everything there is to know about Harry's fifth year, it seems a little odd to be reading a story about events that do not concur with the 'facts.' I mean, before O of the P came out we could all fantasize about what Rowling was going to come up with. Now that it's all there for us to read, the fantasizing becomes pointless. So I have decided to publish the remainder, in its entirety, and get it over with. I certainly hope you will continue to read and review and enjoy my story. For another excellent read I recommend Hunting the Traitor by Fairytale on this site-an excellent work in progress, despite the writer's difficulties grasping English grammar (the writer is a native German speaker). Hunting the Traitor is an AU and successfully transcends the problems with sticking to Harry's schooling timeline. I am now quite intent on turning the bulk of my time and attention, as well as ink and diskspace, to writing my own currently-untitled original novel. I am fast approaching the 100,000 word mark and expect it to reach at least 150,000. Very possibly more. I'm hoping to publish someday. Your kind reviews keep bolstering me up and giving me the hope that I just might be able to do this! For REAL!!  
  
Thank you. Potterfreak.  
  
CHAPTER TEN: Lupin's Request  
  
Sirius Black remained unknown to the general body of Hogwarts students. Harry, Ron and Hermione knew, and he visited with them frequently in Professor Dumbledore's office or in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The other students often saw him roaming the hallways and grounds as a large black dog. No one thought much of it really. Stranger sights were the rule at Hogwarts. Most still feared Black's name, knowing him as the infamous dark wizard who had murdered thirteen people with one spell. He was innocent of course. The real culprit had last been seen by Roxanne Stewart as his powerful silver hand had dragged her through the forest.  
  
Lupin, respected and well liked by most of the students from his short tenure as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, greeted them enthusiastically as he strolled the hallways. He spent much of his time helping Madame Pomfrey care for Miss Stewart, bringing her meals, feeding her and helping her take a short painful stroll round the hospital wing every day. He kept in constant communication with Black and Dumbledore. The Headmaster held frequent councils with a steady stream of visitors, including Ministry officials and foreign wizards and conferred with Black and Lupin after each one.  
  
Dozens of students left Hogwarts, most among the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Only three Gryffindors had been called home-a skinny first- year girl, and the Creevey brothers, their muggle parents horrified by Dumbledore's letter, despite his assurances that they would be as safe at Hogwarts as anywhere. Harry wasn't aware of any Slytherins leaving.  
  
The remaining students busily spread rumors, whispering in huddles, a new flurry of gossip blowing through the school with each passing day that Roxanne's place at the head table stood empty.  
  
"I heard she died."  
  
"She's not dead-she's frozen, like when the Chamber of Secrets was opened."  
  
"I heard the Death Eaters set a werewolf on her and Dumbledore's sent her to live in Siberia."  
  
Harry was constantly avoiding questions. He refused to give them any more information-Dumbledore had asked him, out of respect for Roxanne, not to. A few students had taken to faking, or inflicting, illnesses or wounds, hoping for a trip to the infirmary. But when they got there, all they found was a stone silent bed, surrounded by screens.  
  
Finally, weary with the crowd of kids that followed him around hoping he'd let something slip, Harry threw on his invisibility cloak and snuck out to Hagrid's cabin to visit Sirius. Sirius fairly exploded when he saw him and marched him straight back to the castle without bothering to transform.  
  
Ron's mood grew steadily more anxious. He claimed he was nervous about Gryffindor's first Quidditch match next week (he'd been made Keeper), and partly this was true. Ron had really come to admire Roxanne, despite his inability to beat her at chess, and was shaken by the little that Harry had told him. The longer Roxanne lay suffering in the infirmary, the more anxious he became. Finally he could take it no more. He did something that he never did unless he was in trouble-he stayed after Transfiguration to speak to Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Excuse me, Professor?" he asked timidly.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," she replied, looking at him in her 'what-are-you-up-to- now' way.  
  
"I want-I mean-would it be all right if I-if we-visited Roxanne?"  
  
Professor McGonagall's severe look softened very slightly as she considered what he'd asked. "I believe that can be arranged."  
  
At lunch Professor McGonagall signaled for Ron to come to the head table. Harry and Hermione watched as he stood before her, talking low so Ron had to lean over, Professor Dumbledore watching with a warm twinkle in his eye.  
  
Ron came bounding back to the Gryffindor table, a huge smile on his face, and shoved between Harry and Hermione. "After classes," he said quietly, ignoring the curious stares of the others.  
  
**********  
  
Harry opened the door and peered into the hospital wing with Ron and Hermione straining to see past him. The screen was gone and he could see Roxanne sitting on her bed. Madame Pomfrey stood on the far side, examining her back, swabbing it with a potion she poured liberally from a short blue bottle.  
  
"Ow! OUCH! Stop already!" Roxanne shouted, jerking and wincing as Madame Pomfrey kept coming at her with the large blue-stained cotton ball in her hand. Roxanne struggled to pull her shirt back down with her elbows, but Madame Pomfrey was strong and determined-as always.  
  
"Just-one-more-try!" Madame Pomfrey hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
"OUCH!" Roxanne yelled, finally freeing her shirt from Madame Pomfrey's grip and pulling it down with a huff. "What are you--some kind of sadist?" she hissed back.  
  
Madame Pomfrey threw her hands in the air and stomped off muttering loudly to herself. "Stubborn-no respect-just trying to help!" they could hear in angry bursts.  
  
"Roxanne," Harry called softly, "is it OK if we come in?"  
  
"Harry! Ron! Hermione too? Ah, there you are!" she said spotting Hermione behind Ron's arm. "Please! Come in! Madame Vampira'll leave me alone if I have visitors," she said loudly enough for Madame Pomfrey to easily hear, at which another tirade of grumbling burst from the office several yards away.  
  
The three rushed forward, laughing quietly, amused, but not interested in incurring Madame Pomfrey's stern glares. Roxanne winced as she swung her legs back onto the bed and struggled to settle herself high on the pillows without her hands to help. Harry and Ron did what they could, not sure where they could touch her without causing more pain. They finally each grasped an elbow and helped her leverage herself into a semi-comfortable position.  
  
"When do you reckon she'll let you go ?" asked Hermione, nodding toward Madame Pomfrey's office.  
  
Roxanne heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm going crazy in here. But I'm still in a lot of pain. She can't get rid of it. Nothing helps. Some things make it worse. But she keeps torturing me-tries something new two or three times a day. I'm beginning to think I'd heal faster if she just left me the hell alone." She winced and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, taking several deep breaths waiting for the searing pain to subside.  
  
"Would you rather we went?" asked Ron, concern on his face.  
  
"No. I'll be fine." She sighed heavily. "How are classes going?"  
  
"Great!" beamed Hermione, Harry and Ron rolling their eyes at her.  
  
"Professor Snape's still gone," cooed Ron. "Dumbledore hasn't found a replacement yet."  
  
Roxanne's expression darkened. "I know. Remus says Dumbledore's worried." "Worried? About Snape?" spat Ron. Then he saw the expression on her face. "You're not worried, too?"  
  
"He risked his life to save mine, Ron. I don't know exactly why he did it, but I owe him for that. Besides, potions is my best subject." She laughed at Ron's disgusted look. "I like it! It's a damn sight better than transfiguration."  
  
Now Hermione looked disgusted. "How could anyone not like transfiguration?" she sputtered.  
  
"I don't know," said Roxanne sheepishly. "I just don't have the knack for it, I guess. Maybe it's just Professor McGonagall. I get cold sweats just looking at her. It's like she's waiting for her chance to claw me to death."  
  
"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked incredulously.  
  
"Scarier than Snape?" Harry blurted.  
  
Roxanne nodded. Hermione had gone silent, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she looked up, bright-eyed and snapped her fingers. "I've got it! I'll help you with transfiguration if you'll take over helping Neville with potions for me-honestly, the boy is nearly hopeless! Maybe a fresh perspective'll help him."  
  
Roxanne crossed her arms and thought for a minute. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I suppose we can try. I'll need to make a trip to Diagon Alley for a new wand, if I ever get out of the hospital wing anyway. And I should probably start studying again. Can you three do me a favor?"  
  
"Anything," they chimed together.  
  
"Could you go to my room and fetch my school bag?"  
  
"No problem," said Ron. "Do you want me to bring up your chess set? We could play tomorrow."  
  
But Roxanne shook her head, her eyes clouding. "I'll play. But I'll need to borrow someone's chess set."  
  
Ron thought of Roxanne's shiny black chess box, the silver snakes with the emerald eyes, the deep black, overly-violent chessmen with their sharp cruel edges. It was a chess set meant for a dark wizard, crafted by hands stained with blood no doubt. They understood why she didn't want to use it again.  
  
"You can borrow mine," Harry offered  
  
**********  
  
The small village of Little Hangleton buzzed with rumors of ghosts at the Riddle House-a large manor house that lay on the outskirts of town, long empty. Nearly a year ago now the caretaker had mysteriously disappeared, and the townspeople were convinced his rotting body lay hidden in the house somewhere, his tortured soul wandering its halls. Strange lights and shadows were seen often by the few who dared approach the house. The stories floating around kept even the boldest of Little Hangleton's boys from venturing there anymore. Especially at night.  
  
The absentee owner had never replaced the caretaker, and the mansion soon fell into neglect--the lawns long and gangly, the shrubs growing uncontrolled, the gravel drive grown over with weeds and scattered with litter.  
  
Inside the house, the dusty floors were not undisturbed, however. Footprints could be seen clearly (if one were foolish enough to venture a look), shifting and smearing the dust throughout every room, though no one was ever seen leaving through the large front door. Late one night, a large owl, an eagle owl, streaked through the starlit sky to the Riddle House. It flew to a closed window and beat it wings against it, until a shadowy hand opened the window and let the creature inside. The same hand drew heavy curtains over the window and lit, by magic, a large fire in the room's fireplace. The cold yellow light bathed the face of Lucius Malfoy, who turned and removed a message from the owls leg, as it sat perched on the back of a tall chair. Instead of reading it, he handed the note to the man sitting in the chair. Two others stood waiting quietly near the fireplace.  
  
"It's from your son," said the man in the chair, in a high chilling voice. "He says the woman is still alive."  
  
Malfoy spun and glared at the black haired wizard across the room. "I thought you said she would die, screaming in agony, before two days had passed," he hissed.  
  
"I said she would likely die before two days had passed," drawled Severus Snape. "It is possible-however improbable-that they found the antidote."  
  
"Or is it possible they were sent the antidote?" snarled Malfoy, suspiciously eyeing Snape. "She is one of your students, a beautiful girl, a talented potioner I understand. Perhaps my Lord should reconsider Mr. Snape's claim of loyalty."  
  
"Perhaps your hatred of the girl is effecting your ability to serve our Master faithfully," Snape replied. "I care nothing for the girl, if that is what you are implying, Lucius. She is alive despite my best efforts, not because of them."  
  
The man in the chair stood, surveying them both, ignoring the man with the silver hand who stood solemnly, his eyes cast to the ground. The man towered over them both, his red eyes narrowing, frowning menacingly. "Whether she lived or died is not important. She was a messenger. Did she deliver my message?" Both men nodded. "Then think nothing more about her. We must remain focused on the objective. Do not let her be a distraction. Do I make myself clear?" Both nodded again, though only Snape would meet the Dark Lord's eyes.  
  
"Yes, Master," he said, and bowed deeply before leaving the room.  
  
**********  
  
"Finished?" Remus asked, ready to take Roxanne's breakfast tray.  
  
"If I say no do I get to stay in bed?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"No," he said flatly with a smirk. "Come on."  
  
"You know, I'm not sure I can trust you," she said, wincing as he helped her swing her legs out of bed.  
  
"I'm not sure you can either, but you're not getting out of this that easily." He knelt on the floor and put her slippers on her feet, then sat beside her on the bed and pulled her arm up over his shoulders, and placed his arm gently across her back. "On three. One, two, Three." And together they stood, he lifting her, careful not to cause her any more pain than necessary. Despite the teasing and the pain, Roxanne had come to enjoy her daily hobbling walks with Lupin. She enjoyed his company, his kind wit, his gentle hand.  
  
"Where to today, Mr. Lupin?" she asked as they made their way, slowly at first as the kinks in her muscles worked themselves out, toward the infirmary door.  
  
"The potions classroom," he said frankly, without missing a step.  
  
She tried to stop, to look at him, puzzled, but he pressed her steadily forward. "Why?"  
  
"I need your help. I'll explain when I have you trapped down there," he said with a mischievous grin. He led her on, trying to keep the conversation light as they made their way through the castle. He avoided her questions, avoided her eyes. Something weighed heavily on his mind. He finally persuaded her to give an accounting of her last chess match with Ron. Ron had won, but only (she said) because she'd grown tired. But Ron seemed satisfied with the win. He was full of himself strutting around the school, telling anyone he could find who was remotely interested.  
  
When they finally reached the potions classroom Lupin helped Roxanne into a seat, removed his robes and placed them over her shoulders (she was cold from the effort of the longest walk she'd taken in a week and a half), then hurried to shut the door before returning to take a seat across the worktable from her. He looked her squarely in the face.  
  
"You're starting to scare me," she said looking into his now-serious gray eyes.  
  
"There's really no easy way to say this." He sighed heavily, looking at his hands. "I am a werewolf." He stopped, waiting for her reaction. Her face fell slightly.  
  
"I see. And?"  
  
"And, I need you to make a potion for me."  
  
"What kind of potion?"  
  
"Snape usually makes it for me. I expected him back before now. I'm nearly out. I waited as long as I dared."  
  
"What kind of potion?" she repeated more slowly, forcing a direct answer.  
  
"It's here, in this book," he said sliding a dusty old volume toward her, open to a page illustrated with fierce slobbering werewolves in various stages of transformation. "I take it throughout the month, and when it is time for me to transform the potion renders me quite harmless. I hide away while the moon is full, take a couple of days to recover and return to life as normal."  
  
Roxanne nodded, scanning the recipe. Her mind ran easily over the shelves in the storeroom, ticking off each ingredient, making mental notes of those she knew would not be there. The potion was complicated, more so than anything she'd done on her own. A sudden sharp pain in her back reminded her that it would be enormously difficult for her to stand over a cauldron. Her useless hands would make the chopping, grinding, and mixing impossible. The thought made her cringe.  
  
"You'll have to help me."  
  
"Of course," he said willingly.  
  
"You'll need to go into Diagon Alley for a few of these ingredients."  
  
"It's been done."  
  
She looked at him through narrowed eye. There was still something he wasn't saying. His guilty smirk told her it was coming.  
  
"I need it soon."  
  
"How soon?" she said slowly.  
  
Lupin cringed. "Right away. I had hoped Snape would come back before now. I waited as long-"  
  
"You said that," she reminded him. "How soon?"  
  
"I have four days worth of potion left."  
  
"FOUR DAYS! Remus, this potion takes five days to brew. You're not leaving me any room for error. We'd have to start on it now!"  
  
"Yes, I know. I'm very sorry."  
  
She shook her head. "I don't know if I can-"  
  
"Dumbledore believes you can," he said, taking her hand.  
  
"You'll have to follow my instructions exactly. In fact it might be better if we have Hermione here to help."  
  
"She's on her way," he said with a hopeful smile.  
  
Roxanne laughed at him. "Let's get started then, Mr. Lupin," she said resignedly.  
  
"I am forever in your debt, Milady." And he leaned over the table and kissed her lightly on the cheek, then sprinted for the storeroom to retrieve a cauldron. 


	11. Knockturn Alley

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Knockturn Alley  
  
Several hours later, the beginnings of the potion simmering under Hermione's watchful eye, Remus helped Roxanne back through the castle. She was very tired and limped gingerly. He offered to levitate her, but she refused-the thought gave her the creeps-then tried carrying her, but having her back stretched between his arms only made the pain worse. Lupin begged her forgiveness with each pain-filled step. Roxanne continually reminded him that she'd get even. He settled her on her pillows gently, as she grimaced and gasped with pain.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was across the room forcing a nasty tasting potion down the throats of two Gryffindor third-years who had given themselves purple spots all over their bodies in hopes of gleaning some information from the hospital wing. Roxanne had begun to make a game of them and the others who wandered in and out almost daily, vexed with some very unusual, and often laughable, self-inflicted magical malady. She did her best to give them a good show, moaning and crying out in agony. Madame Pomfrey joined in the fun, tutting loudly and producing false tears of feigned sympathy. She even let slip little phrases such as, "If only the Headmaster would let me harvest the eyeballs of one or two students. Tut, tut."  
  
Hearing this, one young Ravenclaw girl had run screaming from the room, even though her illness had been genuine.  
  
Harry, Ron, and even Hermione did their part as well-at Roxanne's suggestion. They were busily fueling rumors, confirming all the worst ones with horrified expressions and bursts of well-orchestrated fits of crying. Hermione was especially convincing at these.  
  
But Roxanne, much to the chagrin of those hoping for ever more gruesome details, was recovering. Still, it was three weeks before she was strong enough to leave the hospital wing for good. And only after Madame Pomfrey had removed the mangled bones from her hands and regrown them, straight and strong, in one agonizing night. It seemed the effects of the poison had left her at last, but the Dark Mark would remain forever.  
  
Now the pain in her back was merely a constant dull burn, like a nearly- healed sunburn. The angry red scars had faded and diminished to thin black lines edged with pink. The scalding, venomous potion the Death Eaters had dipped the dagger into had left the scars permanently stained with its hollow blackness. The image of the Dark Mark etched deep into the flesh had become covered with a ghostly-thin layer of new skin that blurred the lines, like a page beneath waxed paper.  
  
Roxanne was grateful it was on her back where she couldn't see it every time she undressed or looked in the mirror. Somehow word of the mark had gotten out-most likely through a Ministry member with a student at Hogwarts. She felt the stares at her back every time she walked through the school. She was of half a mind to stand on the head table at dinner and lift her shirt so they could all get their gawking over with.  
  
"It wouldn't make any difference," said Harry when she told them this. "I still get it everywhere I go."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Roxanne. She hadn't noticed a Dark Mark carved into Harry's flesh anywhere. True there was the scar on his forehead, but most kids had a scar of some sort. Roxanne had one on her knee from her own childhood.  
  
"You're not serious?" said Ron loudly. "You really don't know? I thought you were just joking at the train station."  
  
Roxanne looked at him blankly.  
  
"Harry. He's the boy who lived," Ron whispered meaningfully.  
  
"The boy who-you mean the one Voldem-"  
  
"SHHH!" hissed Ron cringing at the name and looking around, hoping no one else had heard.  
  
Roxanne was staring at Harry, who lifted his hair to reveal the lightning bolt scar. "Harry? Then that's a curse scar?"  
  
Harry nodded, disappointed that the only magical person he had ever known who did not look at him oddly when she first heard his name, now knew who he truly was. But she smiled wryly.  
  
"That's pretty cool," she said, then shook her head sadly. "But mine's bigger than yours."  
  
"That's OK," Harry laughed. "I'm definitely not in competition with you."  
  
The four laughed easily together, downing handfuls of Berty Bott's Beans in a kind of mixed-flavor Kamikaze game Ron had come up with. A lovely combination of cherry-chocolate cake, peppermint, and cheesecake could be wholly ruined by a single pickled herring-which looked deceptively like the nearly flavorless cucumber.  
  
**********  
  
The mood in the school was improving, though for the general school population, Gryffindors especially, the Slytherins had become more unpopular than ever. Although few of the students knew of Roxanne's dangerous relationship with Lucius Malfoy, word had gotten out that Draco Malfoy was, in some way, responsible for the attack on Roxanne.  
  
Gryffindors, encouraged by George and Fred Weasley, dogged Draco wherever he went. They even hung threateningly around the entrance to the Slytherin locker room at their first Quidditch match of the year, until Madame Hooch shooed them away. Slytherin beat Ravenclaw in a particularly brutal match. Three fourths of the school cheered for Ravenclaw, but the brawl afterward (someone remembered it beginning with Lee Jordan calling a Slytherin boy an unprintable name, and being jumped on by three or four Slytherins who'd heard it) involved mostly Slytherins and Gryffindors with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick flinging disabling charms in every direction. All the threats of docked points and detentions did little to keep them from beating each other to a pulp.  
  
Draco managed to stay out of the fray, instead keeping to his broom high above the pitch, watching his housemates take his punches for him with amusement. But he paid for his cowardice. Some of the Slytherins, nursing black eyes and scuffed knuckles, (which Madame Pomfrey refused to treat-for their own good) looked with disfavor on him. And he soon found his circle of protective friends growing smaller. Harry realized, with a shiver, that the only ones still loyal to Draco were those with fathers among the Death Eaters-a small cell of fifteen or sixteen students of different ages.  
  
At the same time, the groups of Gryffindors grew larger, supplemented by Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as they followed Draco and his gang around the school.  
  
Many of them had been receiving reports from home of strange happenings and disturbing rumors. Several more students, including a number of Slytherins, had been removed from Hogwarts and placed in other schools, in other parts of the world. Their leaving seemed to hang heavily on the Headmaster.  
  
The Daily Prophet began reporting scattered disappearances and demanded inquiries from the Ministry of Magic. But the Ministry seemed unwilling, or unable, to take action. In reality the Ministry was in turmoil. Cornelius Fudge stubbornly refused to give in to the growing sentiment that Voldemort had somehow risen again. He vehemently denied any such thing, doing his best to ignore the warnings that streamed in to him from every corner of the wizard world. Under his lack of guidance, the Ministry fractured. The bulk seemed to want to hide behind Fudge's skirts of denial, hoping that if, like him, they pretended it wasn't there, the monster would go away. Several other groups orbited around the Ministry taking various stances on the issue. Some called for the dismissal of Fudge. Others for the closing of Hogwarts. One large group, led by Arthur Weasley, demanded the Ministry take action and stubbornly argued for leaving Hogwarts open. Arthur, for one, felt his children were safer there, with Dumbledore, than anywhere. A few acted oddly unperturbed by it all, going about their business cheerily, as if nothing were amiss at all.  
  
Amos Diggory, whose son Cedric had died while at Hogwarts last year, was unsure of anything. The loss of his only son had left him somewhat aimless, and he argued against all sides. But he was sure of one thing. His boy had not been safe at Hogwarts. "Dumbledore couldn't keep my Cedric safe, could he," he'd said gravely to Arthur.  
  
"Amos-" Arthur began. But Amos refused to discuss the matter any further.  
  
**********  
  
Eventually the calls for action from the Ministry went unheeded for so long, they ceased altogether and the Ministry was left with a larger group of do-nothings led by Fudge, and fringed by smaller groups of those still clinging to a viewpoint.  
  
Mr. Weasley and his group of a dozen or so Dumbledore supporters-those who pledged to back their words with actions-were prepared to leave the Ministry altogether as soon as Dumbledore called for them. But he hadn't called yet. He wanted ears and eyes in the Ministry for as long as he could spare them.  
  
They'd done the best that could be expected of them-at least keeping the calls for Dumbledore's removal and the school's closure from being seriously considered. And while few of the Ministry officials were prepared to act, the sentiment at the Ministry was, by a large majority, pro-Dumbledore. For many of them he represented their only hope, if the rumors about Voldemort's return proved true.  
  
As for Roxanne Stewart, she had no trouble believing it. She bore his mark on her back and carried with her the memory of the night she had met his most loyal followers who vowed allegiance to their master as they tortured her relentlessly in his name. She came to hold Albus Dumbledore with the deepest respect, and came to trust him as she had allowed herself to trust no one before. Despite her dark fears and uncertainties, she would do anything he asked. Even when he took her aside one afternoon and asked her to do something for which she felt very unprepared.  
  
"I need a potions master, Roxanne. I wonder if you wouldn't mind filling in for Severus until he returns."  
  
With no outward signs of doubt, except an ashen face, and her heart thumping unseen against her ribs, she agreed, bolstered by the knowledge that Dumbledore trusted in her abilities, even if she did not. And so, early in December, after putting it off for far too long, Roxanne went with Remus into Diagon Alley to buy a new wand and a few potions supplies. They traveled by portkey-a much less unpleasant method of travel than the floo powder had been. She had owled Mr. Orcrist for an advance-enough to cover the new wand, and some extra for Christmas. Mr. Orcrist, very impressed with her new appointment, advanced her a large sum, for which Roxanne was grateful. She had a number of people she needed to thank with generous Christmas presents. Especially Remus, who'd been at her side throughout her recovery, with the exception of the few days he'd needed for his transformations.  
  
Lupin took the opportunity to visit a small shop in a dingy, seedy back street called Knockturn Alley. Two of the ingredients needed for his potion could only be found here. Roxanne stayed close to his elbow as they made their way along the narrow cobblestone path. The residents there seemed to be in a jolly mood and Roxanne's sneakoscope spun madly all the way. She was beginning to feel like a rat in a trap, waiting with churning insides for the master of the house to come club her to death.  
  
Snape had given her the device for a reason, and here she was, trying to ignore its warnings as she followed Lupin into a dark and musty shop. It looked like a replica of Snape's office with his private stores of disgusting slimy potions ingredients that filled the shelves there.  
  
Lupin saw the fear on her face, saw her clutching at the object he knew to be hidden beneath her robes. He stopped.  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here. I'll take you back-you can wait for me on Diagon Alley."  
  
"I'm all right." But her heavy breathing and wide eyes told differently.  
  
"It won't take long," he said, and took her hand encouragingly.  
  
The shopkeeper brought several small jars to the counter. Lupin inspected them carefully before handing over several gold coins, then tucking the jars carefully into his robes, he took Roxanne's hand again and led her out into the street.  
  
The walked silently, Roxanne close to Lupin's side. She glanced furtively into the passing shop windows as they passed, stunned by what she saw inside. She'd never quite considered that, not only were there dark wizards out there, but that there were shops where they could purchase the tools of their vile trade-that dark magic was more than a hobby, but an industry and a way of life.  
  
Suddenly she stopped, frozen, staring into a dirty window. There, propped on a threadbare pillow of black velvet, sat a dagger-the dagger. It's emerald eyed snake handle seemed to wink at her, the blade taunting her. She gasped as phantom pains slid over the scars on her back. She could feel again the first winding slice on her skin. She swayed, clutched Lupin's arm.  
  
"Roxanne?" he asked, alarmed.  
  
"The dagger," she whispered, pointing. "That's the one."  
  
"Are you sure?" Lupin asked, looking into her panic whitened face.  
  
"I see it every night when I close my eyes. I'm sure."  
  
Lupin, still clutching her hand, led her out into the safety of Diagon Alley, sat her on a bench and told her to wait. "Don't move from this spot," he said, waiting for her nod of agreement before disappearing down the narrow, dark alleyway again.  
  
Back at the shop, a middle-aged wizard with gray hair emerged from the back room at the tinkle of the bell on the door.  
  
"Yes, sir. Is there something I can help you with?' he asked pleasantly, glancing at Lupin's worn robes and hiding a distasteful sneer.  
  
"I'm interested in the dagger in the window, if you don't mind," Lupin said calmly.  
  
"Ah, sir has excellent taste!" The shopkeeper glided, looking almost as if his feet didn't touch the ground, to the window and, picking up the dagger, held it out to Lupin, handle first. Lupin took it, pretending to admire it, inspecting it closely. He could see remnants of blood, Roxanne's blood no doubt, near the hilt. They hadn't even bothered to clean it, he thought with disgust.  
  
"A one of a kind piece, sir. Custom crafted for a fine pure-blood family."  
  
"Why is it they were willing to part with it?" asked Lupin, seeming amazed.  
  
"It seems the maid used it to murder her lover. That is what I was told."  
  
"Who sold it to you?" Lupin asked curiously.  
  
"We never disclose such information, sir. Surely you understand."  
  
"I see. No exceptions?" Lupin asked, reaching into his pocket and jangling the heavy gold coins there.  
  
"I'm afraid not," the man frowned.  
  
Lupin lifted the dagger, then held it up, ready to throw it at a blank wall. "May I?" he asked the shopkeeper.  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
Lupin flung the dagger masterfully. With a thwack it lodged itself deep into the wood, its silver handle quivering in the dim light.  
  
The shopkeeper fetched it, prying it carefully from the wall. He turned back to find Lupin, wand drawn.  
  
"EXPELLIARMUS!" Remus shouted. The dagger flew from the man's hand and clattered to the floor, sliding beneath a low shelf. Lupin held his wand at the ready, the pleasantness gone, his gray eyes cold. "Who sold you the dagger," he said slowly, making it very clear he meant to have what he sought.  
  
The shopkeeper held his hands up. "Please, sir. There's no need to-"  
  
"WHO!" Lupin bellowed, pointing his wand directly between the man's eyes.  
  
The shopkeeper turned out to be more of a coward than he at first appeared. He blurted the name quickly and disappeared into the back of the shop.  
  
"Arriman Stewart," he'd said.  
  
**********  
  
Remus hurried back to Roxanne. She'd stayed obediently on the bench, even as snow began to lightly fall. She sat, stunned, staring at the ground. Remus crouched in front of her, looking up into her ashen face. He told her the name the shopkeeper had given. She showed no reaction, her blank eyes gazing fixedly beyond his.  
  
"Roxanne," he whispered, holding her hands in his. "If I'd had any idea. . ."  
  
"He was there-that night" she breathed, closing her eyes.  
  
"You can't know that," Lupin assured her.  
  
"I know he was. He broke my wand. He tied my wrists-so tight they bled. He was the first to-"  
  
"Roxanne." Remus held a finger to her lips, then lifted her chin until she looked directly into his eyes. "I believe you."  
  
"But he's my grandfather. How could he-his own granddaughter." Her eyes were hollow, sad. Her lip quivered slightly, but she did not cry. She couldn't.  
  
Lupin thought a moment. "The power of darkness is intoxicating. He is lost to it-bent on obtaining more. He can only do that by proving himself. You could be his wife or child for all it would have mattered. He cares for nothing but restoring his black soul to honor. Serving Voldemort is the quickest, and-he believes-surest way."  
  
"I'm not like him," she hissed.  
  
"No. You're nothing like him. You're a Gryffindor for starters. Whether you understand the significance of that, I don't know. But your courage sets you apart from him."  
  
"I don't feel very courageous," she said shivering slightly.  
  
"We seldom do, until it matters. You will have the courage when you need it. You certainly showed that to be true in the forest. You spit in Malfoy's face, remember?" He smiled at her.  
  
"That was stupidity, not courage," she whispered bitterly.  
  
His eyes glinted impatiently. "If you believed begging for your life would have saved you, would you have done it?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.  
  
"No. Never." She shook her head, surprised by his outburst, and her own response. But his expression softened again, and he stood, pulling her up with him. "Don't worry about courage. It'll always be there for you when you need it most."  
  
**********  
  
"Mr. Ollivander?" Remus called, peering down a long narrow corridor for some sign of the famous wandsmith. Roxanne sat on a high stool near the window, gazing out into the falling snow.  
  
Mr. Ollivander, a very old wizard with pale watery eyes emerged, rubbing his hands together.  
  
"My friend here needs a wand," Lupin explained pointing to Roxanne, who turned to look at them.  
  
Ollivander looked Roxanne up and down.  
  
"I do hope it was not one of my wands you lost," he said in a patronizing voice, making it clear that his wands were to be well looked after. Roxanne didn't answer, but turned to gaze out the window again.  
  
"It was not," Lupin answered for her.  
  
Ollivander frowned slightly, removed a measuring tape from his vest pocket, and began measuring Roxanne's arm, shoulders, head, face. She sat perfectly still, flinching slightly when his elbow brushed against her back. Ollivander noticed, but said nothing.  
  
"Your old wand," he said as he moved toward a row of shelves stacked with long narrow boxes, each containing a wand, "what was it made of?"  
  
Roxanne shook her head. "I don't know."  
  
"So, you do speak," Mr. Ollivander said in mock surprise. He pulled up another stool and sat looking into her eyes. "Tell me about it please."  
  
Lupin came and placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly.  
  
"It was my father's wand. His parents bought it for him in Hungary." Ollivander's eyebrows rose, but he did not interrupt as she continued. "It was black, with snakes carved into the handle. It felt warm in my hand when I used it." She looked at her outstretched palm as if she'd find the wand's imprint there.  
  
"If you want another wand like it, I cannot help you," Ollivander said watching her closely over his spectacles.  
  
"I do not want another like it," she said firmly.  
  
Ollivander tapped his chin with a long slender finger. Then rose and scanned the shelves again, searching and muttering to himself. He stopped and peered at her. "You are American, correct?"  
  
Roxanne nodded. The longer he searched, the more interested she became, straining to hear his muttered words. She looked to Remus who shrugged and shook his head. Finally Mr. Ollivander seemed to find what he'd been looking for. He shuffled quickly to his stool and opened the box in his hand. He lifted a wand delicately from the tissue wrappings inside and held it out to her. It was nearly white, long, smooth, and lined with tiny black threads that wound through the grain of the wood like veins of ink.  
  
"Give it a wave, then," Ollivander urged.  
  
She grasped the handle gingerly and felt a cool shock surge up her arm. She gasped quietly.  
  
"Yes. Very good. Go on," Ollivander prompted again.  
  
Roxanne pointed the wand at the box in Mr. Ollivander's hands. "Wingardium Leviosa," she commanded, and the box glided smoothly into the air.  
  
"Yes!" exclaimed Mr. Ollivander snatching the box. "That will do nicely. Your new wand is made from American Aspen, with a dragon heartstring core. I made it, oh, some twenty years or more ago. It was a special order, but the gentleman never came for it. It has been gathering dust in my shop ever since. I'd nearly forgotten about it." Ollivander stood and shuffled toward the counter, muttering again. "That name-what was it? Oh, yes. Stewart," he said aloud.  
  
"Stewart?" Roxanne spun around. "Did you say Stewart? Lorenzo Stewart?"  
  
"Yes! Lorenzo Stewart!" Ollivander exclaimed. "You know him?"  
  
"He was my father," Roxanne breathed.  
  
"Well, in that case," said Ollivander with satisfaction, "it's yours. It's even been paid for." 


	12. Choices

CHAPTER TWELVE: Choices  
  
With only three weeks left until the Christmas Holidays, potions classes resumed. The younger students enjoyed Roxanne's lessons, mostly because the teacher wasn't Severus Snape. The Slytherin students, however, tested her patience continually. They made her rather enjoy her new power to deduct points from houses. But as the classes grew older, Roxanne's challenges increased exponentially. She had no trouble with third year classes, and fourth year classes, though she'd needed to do a little more preparation, went more smoothly than she'd expected. The sixth years were old enough to know they were well beyond her, and tried to get away with doing as little as possible-until Roxanne began taking points. Slytherin's fifth years lost 50 points on her first day teaching.  
  
The fifth and seventh years were another matter entirely. They needed preparing for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.S., and were anxious to have a competent teacher with the knowledge they'd need to pass. Roxanne fumbled clumsily through the fifth year class. The students left grumbling and throwing disgusted looks at her. She expected them to complain to their heads of houses. She was sure she'd be hearing from Professor McGonagall any time now.  
  
The seventh years were more direct. Their grumbling began the moment they entered the classroom. One bold Ravenclaw stood as class began.  
  
"What makes you think you can teach us anything?" he challenged.  
  
Fred Weasley sprang from his chair and lunged toward the boy.  
  
"NO!" shouted Roxanne. "Fred! It's all right. It's a fair question." She sat atop a high stool at the front of the classroom and rubbed her chin thoughtfully for a minute, then shrugged. "I don't have any expectation of being able to teach you anything," she said frankly to a renewed round of grumbling. "All I know is that Professor Dumbledore asked me to do it. I may not have learned as much magic as you, but I have learned that when Albus Dumbledore asks you to do something, you do it because you figure he knows best. I'm not here to teach you. I'm here to learn, and if I can help you learn along with me, then I guess we both benefit." She stood and walked around the desks, striding slowly down one long row until she was standing directly in front of the boy. "Your name is Cargill?"  
  
The boy nodded.  
  
"Mr. Cargill, tell me," she said staring him straight in the eye. "If you were left to study what you needed on your own, how much would you really get done?"  
  
A few students in the class chuckled knowingly to themselves. Mr. Cargill looked at his desktop guiltily. "Not much, I suppose."  
  
"Then consider me your taskmaster and this class your study hall. Well then," she said loudly, turning to the rest of the class, "what are you supposed to be studying?"  
  
**********  
  
When Lupin came for her, Roxanne had just successfully transformed a small round stone into a fish that lay flopping and gasping on the floor. Hermione clapped excitedly. After four tutoring sessions something had finally sunk in and Roxanne had just performed her first bona fide transfiguration.  
  
"Well, OK," she said scratching her head, "but what do I do with the fish?"  
  
"You-you-well that's not the point. You can change something you don't need into something you do!" Hermione insisted as Lupin came in.  
  
"Remus! Look! I made a fish," Roxanne said proudly.  
  
Lupin chuckled. "Congratulations. Now can you change it back?"  
  
"Change it back?" Roxanne laughed. "I'll try." The transfiguration half- worked. The fish became stone again, but still looked like the fish. Roxanne shrugged. Lupin laughed harder. Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"That's enough for today," Lupin said, controlling his humor. "Dumbledore wants to see you Roxanne."  
  
She was surprised at this, but grateful to be free from Hermione. She wasn't as intimidating as Professor McGonagall for sure, but she was an equal taskmaster.  
  
Roxanne followed Remus silently through the castle. His suddenly grave demeanor kept her from asking him what Dumbledore wanted with her. He led her into the staffroom and locked the door behind them. The Headmaster was seated behind a large round table with a group of witches and wizards-some Roxanne did not know-seated in chairs throughout the room. Sirius and Hagrid were there, along with Professors Moody, Flitwick, and McGonagall, and Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Charlie Weasley. The faces in the room were grave, except for a warm smile of greeting from the Weasleys. Remus pointed her to an empty chair and sat beside her.  
  
"Welcome Miss Stewart," began Dumbledore. "I have asked you to join in this council so that you can more fully understand what we face." Roxanne nodded slowly and glanced around the room at the others.  
  
The Headmaster introduced her to those she didn't know-two former teachers, Arabella Figg, a frail-looking old witch with a tall green hat, and Mundungus Fletcher, an elderly wizard with large bushy eyebrows and a mutton chop beard; and finally, an American-Warren Talbot. He was middle- aged, gray at the temples of his short-cropped hair. He wore no robes-only black twill slacks and western boots, a neatly pressed shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and a colorful, yet tasteful, silk tie. He spoke with a heavy Texas accent. "Miss Stewart. You are welcome to join us at Hawthorne Academy, anytime you feel you want to come home."  
  
She nodded politely  
  
"Mr. Talbot will be taking a report concerning this meeting to the American Magic Council. I have asked for their help. Perhaps you can assist me in persuading Mr. Talbot of the urgent situation we face," said Dumbledore with a gentle nod.  
  
Roxanne understood. He wanted her to tell her story, show him the mark on her back, the scars on her wrists. She nodded back resolutely.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at her, then began to speak. He told, mainly for Mr. Talbot's benefit, of the rise and resurrection of Lord Voldemort-of his attempts, and final success, to restore himself to his body; of the importance of the boy who lived, the necessity of protecting him and training him for his inevitable final confrontation with Voldemort (Roxanne listened intently. This was the first time she'd heard this side of Harry's story-the first time she'd come to know that Harry Potter was much more than a boy with a tragic past.); of the gathering and increasing boldness of the Death Eaters; of the chaos at the Ministry of Magic and the smattering of success in enlisting the support of Europe's magical communities. Although many vowed neutrality, others willingly chose sides. Most refused to commit to anything. The danger remained that they would eventually choose, out of willingness or fear, to support Voldemort.  
  
"So, you see, Miss Stewart," Dumbledore continued, "difficult times divide us into three kinds-those who choose good, those who choose evil, and those who choose to sit on the fence leaving others to fight the battle for them on the ground. The danger lies in the fence. It will be shaken, and those who balance on top of it will fall-but to which side?"  
  
"We've chosen to fight for good," said Sirius, gesturing towards the others and staring intently at her.  
  
"And you want me to make my choice," she finished for him, looking from Black, to Dumbledore, to Lupin.  
  
Remus nodded, his expression grave.  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Yes, now," Sirius said firmly.  
  
Dumbledore spoke. "I will not deny that time is running short-very short. But," he said, glancing at Sirius, "one must not make such a decision hastily."  
  
"Why me?" she asked, incredulous. She trusted Dumbledore, but he was asking her to stretch that trust farther than she'd ever imagined. She knew enough about the Dark Arts now to understand she couldn't possibly be of much use.  
  
"I am not one who believes in chance, Miss Stewart," began Dumbledore. "It was not by chance that you came to us now, of all the years you could have. I believe you have a purpose here. I am giving you every opportunity to find out what that purpose is. And, I suspect, prove to be of use in our fight against Voldemort."  
  
Roxanne looked at each face-all grim and determined. She thought quickly through all she'd just heard, the gears clicking away in her head, putting everything together into blocks of thought as she sorted it through. She stood suddenly. "There's just one thing-I'll be right back." And she strode out of the room. At a nod from Dumbledore, Remus followed after her.  
  
They ran through the castle searching. No, not in the library, or the Great Hall. He wouldn't be at Hagrid's. The Quidditch field? No, it was long past nightfall outside. Finally they ran into Neville Longbottom coming out of a bathroom.  
  
"Neville! Do you know where Harry is?" asked Roxanne.  
  
"Harry? I think he's in Gryffindor tower, but-"  
  
"Could you check for me? Ask him to come out-alone. I need to ask him a question," Roxanne said, grasping Neville's shoulders tightly.  
  
Neville, taken aback by her urgency, but reassured by Lupin's steady, pleasant smile, stammered, "S-sure."  
  
"Thanks Neville," she said clapping him on the back and giving him a gentle shove towards the dormitories.  
  
When Harry finally emerged (he'd been undressed for bed and had difficulty finding his left slipper) he found Lupin pacing back and forth across the corridor and Roxanne leaning against the wall watching for him. Harry looked curiously at Lupin who shrugged and tilted his head toward Roxanne. The ominous look on her face kept him silent.  
  
She glanced at Lupin (who nodded encouragingly), drew a deep breath and stood, facing Harry squarely before plunging ahead.  
  
"A lot of good people are fully prepared to put their lives at risk because they believe in you, Harry."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Roxanne stopped him with a brisk shake of her head. "I just want to know-are you worth it?"  
  
Harry stood, blinking numbly at her. He glanced at Remus who shrugged slowly, not wanting to interfere with whatever it was Roxanne needed to do to help her make her choice.  
  
"I-I don't know," Harry whispered.  
  
Roxanne began pacing, her eyes wandering all around, her hands twitching. Harry and Lupin watched her silently, waiting. Finally she stopped and looked at Harry again, nodding slowly.  
  
"I can accept that," she said quietly. "I don't know if I'm worthy to defend you-but I'm willing to try." She held her hand out to him. Harry took it hesitantly. She gripped his hand firmly, surprising him with the strength of it.  
  
"Good night, Mr. Potter," she said bowing slightly to him before hurrying off, Lupin jogging after.  
  
**********  
  
The staffroom was silent when Lupin and Roxanne entered again, all eyes upon them, except Sirius who stood looking out the window.  
  
Roxanne apologized for making them wait. "I had to ask Harry something."  
  
Sirius spun around, glaring at her. "Harry? What has he got to do-"  
  
"He has everything to do with this," she replied coldly. She'd begun to be bothered by Black's jeering. "Or am I wrong in believing that he is the cause that you are willing to die for?"  
  
"He is part of it certainly, but-" Sirius began.  
  
"Without Harry there is no hope," Roxanne stated flatly.  
  
Mr. Talbot interrupted, drawling slowly. "Does this boy-do we need to take him somewhere-for his protection?"  
  
"Harry has a purpose in all this-as do we all," said Dumbledore slowly. "Exactly what that purpose is remains to be seen. But in order for him to do what he was meant to do, he must be helped to it, not protected from it. The same is true of us all." He looked at each face in the room, resting last on Roxanne.  
  
"Miss Stewart is wrong about hope, however," Dumbledore said, his eyes not moving from hers. "As long as one remains who is loyal to the cause of right, there shall always be hope."  
  
Roxanne felt a chill run through her body. Dumbledore had a way of doing that-of piercing her to the core with some idea he believed to be important for her to know, though she seldom knew exactly why.  
  
"Have you decided then, Roxanne?" he continued.  
  
Her resolve of a few moments ago had vanished. She was filled with doubts- about her abilities mainly. She couldn't understand how a novice witch, with little more skill than children half her age could be of any use, except in getting herself killed.  
  
"Apparently not," spoke Sirius bitterly, jumping on her moment of hesitation.  
  
"I-I just don't see how I can be any help," she said quietly, looking away from Dumbledore's searching gaze.  
  
"You see?" spat Sirius. "She doubts herself. How can we be sure she won't fail us, or betray us, at the moment we need her most?"  
  
"Self doubt is a trait she shares with Harry," Dumbledore reminded him.  
  
"But Harry's doubts can be-" began Sirius, but he was interrupted by Lupin.  
  
"Doubt is irrelevant! Both Roxanne and Harry have proven themselves worthy of the Lion's crest in times of grave danger." Lupin spoke forcefully, more so than Roxanne had ever heard before. He was facing his old friend, his gray eyes flashing, his jaw clenched. "Dumbledore wants her here. I trust Dumbledore."  
  
At these words Black's stubborn stance relaxed, and he tore his gaze away from Lupin's.  
  
"Remus is right," said Arthur Weasley, breaking the sudden silence. "To trust Dumbledore, I mean. If he wants Miss Stewart here, then the only thing to do is to prepare her, and Harry."  
  
"We must prepare them all-and quickly," said Dumbledore.  
  
"Do you mean the students, Albus?" asked Professor McGonagall, incredulous.  
  
"I do, Minerva."  
  
Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I want my children to be ready to defend themselves. There is no guarantee I will be here to do it for them. I do not want them to be helpless."  
  
Roxanne nodded knowingly at Mrs. Weasley's last statement.  
  
"I only hope the rest of the parents will feel as you do, Molly," said Dumbledore heavily. His gaze turned to Roxanne again. "Miss Stewart?"  
  
Lupin squeezed her hand. She looked at Sirius, who had returned to staring out the window, then at Remus who nodded once, then to Dumbledore.  
  
"I'm in."  
  
**********  
  
For the next half-day owls, most carrying letters to parents informing them of impending changes to the Hogwarts curriculum, streamed from the school owlery. The first went to the Minister of Magic, informing him of Dumbledore's intent to officially break all ties with the Ministry unless Fudge declared opposition to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore watched the owl until it disappeared into the clouds. Fudge's response, though not crucial, could go a long way toward relieving, or intensifying, much of his worry.  
  
If, as Dumbledore suspected, Fudge lacked the fortitude to do what he should, the Ministry stood in danger of falling under Voldemort's control. And Dumbledore could not risk the danger that would represent for Hogwarts, to Harry, to the magical community. But the break from the Ministry held other risks he felt must be taken--the danger that the fence-sitters would unite against his aggressive stance, the danger that Hogwarts would have to be emptied of all those students whose families did not actively support him, that Hogwarts would have to become a refuge for those who did.  
  
But Dumbledore was about to take a step in that direction. He was about to do something he hoped he would never have to do. He was about to ask a student to leave.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Enter," he called gravely.  
  
It was Draco Malfoy. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" he drawled politely.  
  
"Come in Draco. Please be seated."  
  
The boy did as he was told. Dumbledore looked at him. He had grown much taller, and meaner, since first coming to Hogwarts as a nasty-tempered first-year. It was true he had caused a great deal of trouble for many students. But they, especially Harry, had become stronger for it. True to form, Dumbledore refused to give up hope that this boy could be taught to overcome the faults of his father. But now, the peril the school, and Draco, now faced, had overtaken the benefits of having him there. The students had divided themselves into the three kinds of people Dumbledore knew they would. Some had begun withdrawing from any confrontations, others antagonizing one another, luring each other into more and more dangerous situations. If there was to be a war at Hogwarts it would not be now, not under these circumstances, not between the young wizards and witches he was duty-bound to protect. Removing Malfoy would relieve much of the tension.  
  
"I've been hearing rumors about you, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster began.  
  
"They're not true," Draco exclaimed bitterly.  
  
"Whether true or not is irrelevant. What is important is that your fellow students believe they are true."  
  
"But if you told them they weren't, they'd believe you," Draco muttered coolly.  
  
"And IF I believe the rumors, I will not lie to the other students," Dumbledore stated firmly. "Under the circumstances, Mr. Malfoy, I think it best if you left Hogwarts-for a time-until things settle down a bit."  
  
"Leave? You can't make me-unless you're going to expel me!"  
  
"I will not expel you, unless you give me reason to. However, I can no longer guarantee your safety here. The Gryffindors are out for blood-your blood," said Dumbledore, his calm demeanor growing in direct opposition to Draco's increasing animosity.  
  
"I knew it!" spat Draco. "You're setting Gryffindor up to win the house cup! You get rid of me, Slytherin has to forfeit our Quidditch matches-"  
  
"You're wrong. Quidditch games have been suspended for the remainder of the year. It is likely that other players from the other teams will be leaving Hogwarts as well."  
  
"My father-"  
  
"I have already informed your father of my intentions. He has failed to respond to my letters. Perhaps if you wrote him yourself-"  
  
"He wants me to stay here," said Draco slowly, through clenched teeth.  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot allow that, Mr. Malfoy. Hagrid and Mr. Lupin will escort you to Hogsmeade in the morning. Your mother has agreed to meet you there."  
  
**********  
  
By dinner word had leaked throughout the castle that Draco Malfoy was leaving.  
  
"This is our last chance to get the bloody little bastard," hissed Fred to the Gryffindors gathered in the Great Hall.  
  
"Fred!" exclaimed Hermione, as shocked by the malice in his voice as the strong language. Everyone else muttered agreement, including Neville, who had been the victim of more of Draco's spiteful jinxes than all the others combined.  
  
"He'll spend the rest of night hiding out in the Slytherin dormitory, no doubt," said Lee Jordan with disappointment. "The coward."  
  
Heads close together, dinner plates cleaned and pushed aside, a large group sat late at the table, planning their revenge on Draco for all he'd done to deserve it-but mostly for the part they knew he had played in the ruthless Halloween night attack on a fellow Gryffindor.  
  
Suddenly someone noticed Remus Lupin standing behind them, arms folded, listening. Everyone fell silent.  
  
"Harry, can I speak with you?" he said, motioning for Harry to follow.  
  
Harry's face went very red. He didn't expect Remus to be thrilled at what he'd been plotting with the others. He was right.  
  
"Harry, Draco will be leaving here under armed guard. I would hate to be hit by a misdirected jinx. I would hate to have to send one your way. Understand?" he said firmly.  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"If it is meant to be, the opportunity will arise again, under more favorable-and fairer-circumstances."  
  
"More favorable for Malfoy, you mean?" Harry retorted.  
  
"Perhaps. But you are a Gryffindor. If you leave honor behind to seek revenge, you are no greater than he is.  
  
Harry nodded again and turned to rejoin his fellow conspirators.  
  
In the morning, Hagrid and Remus were joined by Professors McGonagall and Moody. All the Gryffindors could do was stand at the sides of the entry hall, glaring and wishing. 


	13. Mundungus Fletcher's Bad Move

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Mundungus Fletcher's Bad Move  
  
As the Christmas Holidays approached, Professors Moody and McGonagall took it upon themselves to see that Roxanne would be ready for her second-year exams by the time the other students returned in January. It had been decided that they would concentrate on those skills she'd most likely need in the challenges that undoubtedly lay ahead. Roxanne was more than willing to give up Arithmancy and Herbology, but would miss History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and Astronomy. With her preparations for potions classes, she had little spare time for extra reading. She had plenty of potions knowledge to easily outstrip most of the fourth years, but beyond that, it was a matter of learning as she went, making mistakes, learning to say "I don't know," when a student had a difficult question.  
  
Once again she could often be found with books and parchment spread over a large area of the Gryffindor table, more often than not researching the answers to questions raised by her older students. Professor McGonagall demanded her early morning hours, Professor Moody her evenings. Somewhere in between she managed to teach a few students a little something. She hoped it would be adequate.  
  
The first day of Holidays, Roxanne found Remus standing at the top of the Grand Staircase looking down at the milling students, packed and ready to leave for Hogsmeade station. She stood by him, silent, leaning on the banister and watching as well.  
  
"Dumbledore expects to see less than half of them return after the Holidays," he said quietly, a look of concern on his face.  
  
"I'm sure the ones worth having will be back," she said with a shrug.  
  
"I don't doubt that. But they all need to be here. They're not ready for what lies ahead. I don't suppose any of us are."  
  
Roxanne snorted. "I know I'm not. But I remember someone telling me once," she said nudging him gently, "that courage comes when you need it. Maybe they'll have what they need when it counts."  
  
Lupin looked at her and nodded with a hopeful smile. "By the way," he said, looking very serious, "speaking of courage-Professor Moody wants to test you the day after tomorrow. He's asked Sirius and I to help."  
  
"The day after tomorrow?! I thought I had until the thirty-first!"  
  
"Apparently Moody thinks you're ready. He sees no point in putting it off."  
  
Roxanne groaned. "Do you know what he has planned?"  
  
Lupin chuckled. "I know exactly what he has planned. But I won't tell you."  
  
"Come on. Please?" she said leaning closer to him and batting her eyelashes.  
  
"Not a chance," he said smiling broadly, then walking away.  
  
She stood looking at the students below. A flash of red hair caught her attention. Then an idea struck. "Fred! George!" she called loudly, hurrying down the stairs toward them.  
  
**********  
  
As it turned out, Harry Potter was the only student to stay behind for the Christmas Holidays that year. With the rising tensions in the wizard world, it seemed everyone, except Harry's aunt and uncle, wanted their children home. Harry had been invited to stay at the Weasley's, but declined, hoping instead to spend some time with his godfather. The two of them spent every spare minute talking, studying, playing chess, dining together. They were nearly inseparable. Roxanne noticed them talking secretly, looking in her direction more often than she was comfortable with. Sirius would say something, look or point at her, they would laugh quietly and turn away. Remus seemed to be in on their joke as well. Roxanne suspected it had something to do with Moody's test, but she couldn't be certain.  
  
Harry eagerly joined in on her lessons when invited, mastering advanced skills under Moody and Remus' tutoring, even learning a few chess strategies from Roxanne. He was anxious to try them out on Ron when he returned. The other teachers, along with Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg, drilled and coached her constantly. She couldn't escape them-it seemed they were everywhere. She often used the excuse that she had work to do, and would sneak off to the potions classroom, lock herself in, and lie on the worktables, enjoying the silence.  
  
After breakfast on the day before her exam, she skirted around a corner to avoid Professor Flitwick and hurried to the potions classroom, only to find Mundungus Fletcher there. The sound of clinking glass coming from the storeroom gave him away. Roxanne found him removing, sorting, and rearranging the hundreds of bottles that she and Professor Snape had so meticulously organized the previous summer. The dustbin was nearly full of ingredients he didn't approve of, and a large sheet of parchment had scribbled lists of others he apparently intended to acquire.  
  
Roxanne rushed in and blocked him from attacking the last untouched set of shelves. "What are you doing?!" she shrieked.  
  
Fletcher looked at her haughtily. "I am doing you a favor, young lady. Severus is a brilliant potions master, but he was never much for organization," he tutted, stepping forward and trying to brush her aside.  
  
But her feet were planted firmly, her teeth gritted, and her eyes afire. "Don't even think about it!" she hissed, glaring at him, with all the fury she could muster. "I'm potions teacher! This is my classroom! Now, get out!"  
  
"Come now. I was only-" he began.  
  
"GET OUT!" she roared, pointing him furiously to the door.  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her and snorted, before storming out, muttering something about ' uncouth Americans,' 'foolish young pups' and 'seeing what the Headmaster would have to say about all this.' Roxanne was too exasperated to feel sorry for Dumbledore. She surveyed the mess. Her anger bubbled up into a frustrated roar at the thought of the hours she would waste restocking the shelves.  
  
The dustbin smoked with a potentially dangerous mix of substances, at least one of which she recognized as an ingredient she needed to make another batch of Lupin's potion next week. That meant another trip to Diagon Alley. She groaned and cursed Mundungus Fletcher under her breath, hissing words that would have made Professor McGonagall very unhappy with her.  
  
But she set to work replacing bottles and jars in their proper places. When Roxanne didn't show for lunch that afternoon, Remus came looking for her, balancing a heaping plate of sandwiches, a jug of pumpkin juice, and a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. He sensed her fury and wisely kept silent until the food was securely placed on the table. Still silent, he leaned against the doorframe and watched. She kept working, ignoring him, straining to keep herself from unleashing her anger on him, wishing she could do unspeakably horrible things to Fletcher.  
  
Remus knew a single word from him would likely set her off. But he was ready, and willing.  
  
"Well?" he said calmly.  
  
"WELL WHAT?!" she yelled. He hadn't realized how loud her voice could be. "'Well, it looks like Fletcher did a damned fine job of making your life a living hell!?' 'Well, you're doing a fantastic job without my help?!' 'Well, there's three BLOODY hours well spent?!'" She ranted on loudly for several minutes, kicking the dustbin several times, waving her arms wildly, threatening to throw a jar of wolfs bane across the room. But Remus grabbed her wrist and deftly replaced the wolfs bane with an empty jar which she flung to the stone floor, shattering it into thousands of glittering slivers of glass.  
  
Finally she stopped, sat heavily in the chair, elbows on the table, head in her hands, breathing hard. Lupin returned to leaning in the doorway. "Feel better?" he asked.  
  
"Is Fletcher still alive?" she hissed through gritted teeth.  
  
Lupin chuckled softly. "Yes."  
  
"Then no-I don't."  
  
Remus laughed out loud. "I have a feeling he'll wish he were dead before you're through with him."  
  
Roxanne dropped her head to the table with a loud 'thunk.' Remus fell silent as she took a deep breath and her shoulders began to shake. He stood and shifted his weight uncomfortably, not sure what to do, what to say. Had it been something he said?  
  
"Roxanne-"  
  
She looked at him, a huge smile on her face and exploded with a fit of laughter.  
  
*********  
  
Lupin swept up the glass while Roxanne ate hungrily. She was nearly finished with the storeroom. A row of jars on the table would still need re-filling.  
  
"I need to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow-no, not tomorrow. Day after maybe. Can you come?" she asked.  
  
"It should be no problem. But," he added hesitantly, "I'll only come if you let me buy you a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
"Er," she began.  
  
"I'm not asking for a date, unless you're OK with that," he stammered.  
  
"It's not that. I'd love to have you buy me a drink. It's just--" She looked down into her soup. "I'm not sure I'm welcome in Tom's place yet. And, well-I don't drink-not anymore."  
  
Remus looked at her oddly for a moment, then shrugged. "OK. How about hot cocoa at Florien Fortiscue's?"  
  
She smiled broadly. "That sounds great!"  
  
**********  
  
Dinner that evening promised to be a tense gathering. Mundungus Fletcher scowled childishly at Roxanne when she came in with Lupin. Apparently his complaints to Dumbledore had not netted the results he hoped for. Sirius Black sat between Hagrid and Harry, refusing to meet Lupin's eye.  
  
"What's up with him?" Roxanne asked Remus quietly when they had taken their seats at the round table. Remus poured them both a steaming cup of Wassail.  
  
"It's nothing," he said with a slight frown. Roxanne knew they were old friends and it bothered her that they weren't getting along and that Remus wouldn't tell her why. But Remus obviously didn't want to discuss it and Sirius had become engaged in a conversation with Harry.  
  
Throughout it all, Professor Dumbledore managed to keep the mood light and conversation interesting, even coaxing a laugh out of Mundungus Fletcher.  
  
As desert was served, Professor Flitwick turned to Roxanne. "I understand you've been giving Harry some chess lessons," he said, a hint of approval in his voice.  
  
Roxanne nodded. "Ron'll be surprised when he gets back."  
  
"That boy needs a bit of a challenge," he said patting her arm.  
  
"Chess?" broke in Fletcher. "My, it's been ages since I've played a good game of chess. Difficult to find a challenging opponent these days."  
  
"Mundungus fancies himself quite the chess master, Roxanne," bubbled Flitwick, winking meaningfully at her. "Perhaps you could play him a game." Flitwick leaned in close and whispered, "He could certainly stand to learn a thing or two from you."  
  
"I should be happy to play," cooed Fletcher condescendingly.  
  
Roxanne nodded. "Anytime. I'm always up for a game."  
  
"Why not now?" Flitwick urged with a gleam in his eye.  
  
Roxanne looked at Fletcher, giving him the first say. Many around the table fell silent and waited for his response.  
  
"Of course," he said. "I shall need to borrow a chess set."  
  
"Me too," Roxanne said to curious stares from several. "May we impose on you, Professor Flitwick?"  
  
"Certainly," he said patting her arm again. "You know where I keep them don't you?"  
  
Roxanne nodded and hurried off to Flitwick's office. Sirius rose and strode over to Lupin.  
  
"Well?" Sirius said coolly.  
  
"She agreed," returned Lupin.  
  
"I see," said Black, his eyes sparking angrily.  
  
"It's a date, Sirius. You're acting as if it's the end of the world," Remus whispered impatiently.  
  
"She's distracting you," Sirius said through gritted teeth.  
  
"You're damned right she is. You could stand with a bit of a distraction yourself Sirius," Lupin whispered angrily. Black turned and swept back to his side of the table where Harry sat looking at them curiously. But Sirius declined to explain when Harry asked about it. Dumbledore saw the exchange as well and he frowned at both of them.  
  
Roxanne returned with the chess sets and Professor Flitwick's board. The others made a space so she and Fletcher could sit near each other. She noticed that Lupin seemed glummer than before. A quick glance at Sirius told her why. She said nothing to Remus as she set up her pieces.  
  
"You first, my dear," said Fletcher sweetly, placing his last pawn on the board.  
  
"I had a small wager in mind, Mr. Fletcher," she said. Everyone stopped, even Sirius, and looked at her quizzically.  
  
Fletcher looked her up and down, as if he could gauge her chess ability by guessing her dress size. "What did you have in mind?" he said shrewdly.  
  
"If I win, you stay OUT of the potions classroom."  
  
"And if I win?"  
  
"Name it," she said confidently.  
  
Fletcher narrowed his eye and drummed the table with his short fingers. The feeling that the jaws of a steel trap were poised to snap him in half nagged at the back of his brain, but his ego wouldn't let him heed the warnings.  
  
"Shall we say, hmm, 50 galleons?" he said, after thinking it over with an impudent scowl on his face.  
  
Roxanne agreed without even taking time to consider the offer. She locked eyes with him and shook his hand, sealing the deal before a dozen witnesses.  
  
Roxanne advanced her first pawn and Fletcher chuckled smugly. But it would prove to be his last moment of merriment that evening. It took Roxanne only twelve moves to check his king. Fletcher sat stunned, like a deer in the headlights of a car, staring at the board. Roxanne was up and cheerfully bidding everyone goodnight before striding out on Lupin's arm. 


	14. The Test

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Test  
  
The sun was still well below the horizon when Roxanne was dressing, her hair still damp from the shower. Professor McGonagall would be expecting her for her morning transfiguration session in a few minutes. These days she looked forward to transfiguration. They were putting the refining touches on a new project that Dumbledore had suggested. Still, she preferred not to be late, as Professor McGonagall would only be more terse and demanding than usual.  
  
She pulled a loose shirt over her head and, hearing a knock at the door, quickly clipped her hair out of her face.  
  
"Who is it?" she called.  
  
But no one answered.  
  
"Who is it?" she called again, louder. Still nothing.  
  
A shiver of uncertainty jolted through her body. She snatched her robes from the chair and threw them on, checking for her wand, then crept to the door and listened carefully. She heard no sound. Nothing. She shivered again, harder this time and scanned the room looking for something to help her.  
  
Finding nothing that she knew of that could help her see through the solid wood of the door, she stepped back and drew her wand.  
  
"Who's there?!" she demanded.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
She was beginning to think she'd imagined the knock, when it came again. Hiding would be pointless. Her mind raced. They were at war. Could this be a new attack? Had Lucius Malfoy come to finish her off? Or maybe her grandfather? But her sneakoscope stood perfectly still.  
  
She retreated to the window and looked out. The wide wedge of landscape outside her window was empty. There were no signs of disturbance in or around the castle. Everything was quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet.  
  
Returning to the door, she listened again. Then gulping and gritting her teeth she slowly turned the knob and pulled the door open, keeping it between her and whoever lay outside.  
  
Something hit the door hard, pushing her against the wall and pinning her there.  
  
"You'll have to do better than that from here on in if you expect to pass, Miss Stewart." It was Professor Moody. "You can lose your life to more than just a wave of the wand remember."  
  
He lifted his weight from the door and Roxanne stepped out massaging her shoulder, checking her wand for damage.  
  
"This is my exam? I thought I'd at least get to eat breakfast first."  
  
"Only the beginning. You didn't really expect me to give you a 'Ready, set, go,' did you?" he growled.  
  
"It might have been nice," she said sarcastically.  
  
"Nice, but unproductive. The dark arts are not 'nice' Roxanne. You must be constantly on the alert. Constant vigilance, Miss Stewart."  
  
"Yes. I've heard," she smirked, straightening her robes.  
  
"You've heard, but not done a very good job up to now of practicing it. Now, your task awaits. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore are acting as observers only. Trust no one else. Act only when acted upon. Use defensive maneuvers first. Attack offensively only when you must." He looked at his watch, then at her with his enormous eye. "I'll give you 30 seconds head start. GO!"  
  
Roxanne didn't need to be told twice. She bolted for the door and started down the corridor, counting under her breath. Professor Moody grumbled something at 'seven' and she felt her legs lock beneath her. She tumbled to the ground, her wand spinning away across the floor.  
  
She could hear Moody's footsteps behind her. He was coming quickly. Twisting her body around, she rolled as fast as she could in the direction of her wand. But he reached her first. The wand was tantalizingly close, but he blocked her from getting at it, standing over her, wand drawn.  
  
"I said trust no one, Miss Stewart. You can never trust a Death Eater to keep his word." Moody raised his wand slowly. Roxanne's mind raced for a solution.  
  
It struck her suddenly. She smiled up at his scarred face, then grabbed him by the ankles and swung her still-locked legs up, pitching Moody over onto the stone floor. One, two rolls and she had her wand.  
  
"EXPELLIARMUS!" she shouted, pointing her wand at Moody as he struggled with his tangled robes. His wand flew toward her, but she ignored it as she muttered the leg-lock counter-curse and scrambled to her feet. Moody was up now, too.  
  
"Much better," he growled, a crackled smile playing at his lips.  
  
"ACCIO WAND!" Roxanne commanded, and caught Moody's wand as it sped toward her from its resting place on the floor. "I'm sorry, Professor. I can't have you following me."  
  
"Do whatever you feel you must," he said, sounding pleased.  
  
"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!" she called. And Moody fell stiff, to the floor.  
  
She dragged him by his feet into her room, where she changed her heavy- healed school shoes for a light pair of sneakers, shut the door on her way back out and stashed Moody's wand inside a nearby suit of armor.  
  
The castle was silent again, the corridor empty. The dark shadowed hallways became filtered with gray light as the sun outside began to rise. Roxanne kept a tight grip on her wand, took a deep breath and started off toward the kitchen to see if she could grab something portable for breakfast. She didn't expect to be able to join the others later.  
  
She suspected Moody had gone easy on her. She thought Lupin might do the same. No doubt Sirius Black would be as ruthless as Moody would allow. There was also Flitwick and Fletcher to worry about, as well as who knew how many other wizards, witches and dark creatures lurking in the shadows. Roxanne hoped she wouldn't run into Fletcher. After his humiliating chess loss there was no telling what he might try to do to her.  
  
The castle seemed deserted. Likely everyone was hiding, out of the line of potential fire, or since it was still very early, asleep. The route to the kitchen was clear. Several house elves were bustling about, preparing for breakfast that was still over an hour away. But they stopped when she came in, their large bulging eyes peering at her curiously.  
  
"Excuse me, could I get something to take with me for breakfast? A couple of apples maybe?" she asked uncertainly.  
  
One elf came forward. The others went straight back to their duties.  
  
"Miss Stewart will not be joining the others for breakfast this morning?" he squeaked.  
  
"I doubt it," she said looking the elf up and down. He was different from the others. His clothes were an odd mish-mash of style and color. A bright fuscia sock had fallen and bunched around one ankle, the other (acid green with purple polka-dots) was pulled up as high as it would reach. He wore a bright orange 'Chudley Cannons' t-shirt and a long red knitted stocking cap with tassels that hung nearly to his knees.  
  
He poured her a large goblet of orange juice and set toast and sausage to browning over the fire.  
  
"Miss Stewart needs her strength today. Dobby will be making her a lovely breakfast. Please, sit," he said leading her to a table.  
  
She looked around quizzically, then took a seat near a wall, covering her back against the possibility of attack. Moody had said to trust no one-she assumed that meant house elves as well. "Dobby. Is that your name?" she asked.  
  
The elf nodded politely, then placed the goblet and a large, heaping plate in front of her. As she cut into the sausages, Dobby smeared a thick layer of blackberry preserves on her toast for her, then sat back and watched quietly as she ate.  
  
"Have you worked here at Hogwarts long, Dobby?" she asked, trying to ease her anxiety and escape Dobby's morose stare with some conversation.  
  
"Not as long as most. After the great Harry Potter freed Dobby, Dobby tried to find work. No one wants to be paying house elves for work. Dobby wants paying. But Dumbledore-a great man-he gave Dobby a job," he squeaked, watching Roxanne carefully as she bit into her toast.  
  
"Freed you? Was Harry your master?"  
  
"No! Harry Potter tricked Dobby's wicked master into giving Dobby a sock. Now Dobby is free-and Dobby works for wages," he said proudly, his eyes not moving from her face as she finished her first piece of toast.  
  
"You know about my exam, eh?" she said through a mouthful of sausage.  
  
Dobby nodded solemnly, his expression suddenly mixed with pity and despair. Roxanne's stomach gave a lurch. "Can you give me any clues?" she asked hopefully. "What am I up against?"  
  
"Dobby swore he would not say!" and he burst into violent sobs. A second elf timidly removed Roxanne's now empty cup and plate. A third took the bottle of jam and dumped the remaining contents into the fire where it sputtered and hissed and smoked darkly.  
  
Roxanne watched stupefied, as the realization took hold. She gasped. "POISON!"  
  
Dobby's sobs exploded, so loud now the pots and kettles hanging from the rafters vibrated. She jumped from her seat and bolted for the door, running blindly through the castle, ignoring the possibility of attack, as her throat began to burn and her eyes to water. By the time she reached the potions classroom her hands and feet were numb, and she fumbled clumsily with a cauldron and the ingredients she'd need. She struggled to keep a tight grip on the jars, knocking others crashing to the floor.  
  
It seemed to take forever to light the fire. Her hands trembled as she fought for the necessary control to measure the ingredients accurately. Finally she dropped in a bezoar and sat down, shaking uncontrollably to wait for the boil.  
  
She heard footsteps behind her, but didn't care. She knew a confrontation would only speed the poison and sap the strength she would need to get the antidote to her lips.  
  
"Roxanne?" It was Dumbledore.  
  
She heaved a sigh of relief, but did not move or respond.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Poison," she whispered.  
  
"Yes. I know. I am only allowed to interfere if you become unable to help yourself."  
  
She nodded. "I really screwed up, didn't I."  
  
"It is fortunate this is only an exam," he agreed. "Better for you to learn from your mistakes here than to die by them later. I believe your potion is boiling."  
  
Under Dumbledore's careful watch, Roxanne sat up groggily and just managed to get a spoonful of the steaming mixture to her mouth without tipping the cauldron onto the floor.  
  
"A bit more, I think," urged the Headmaster.  
  
Fighting the temptation to let the poison do its work, she took another spoonful and another. Her hands began to tingle as the blood began flowing through them again. A searing pain shot through her temple, but her mind slowly cleared, her racing pulse slowed. She slumped back into her chair, resting her head and breathing deeply. Despite Dumbledore's soothing, she was deeply disappointed in herself and frowned darkly.  
  
"You must not lose heart-not yet," said Dumbledore. "The test will not end because you are discouraged, Roxanne. Professor Moody has prepared you, quite masterfully, for what lies ahead. Pick yourself up by your bootstraps-that is a common phrase in America, is it not?"  
  
She smiled and nodded.  
  
"That's better." He turned and strode for the door. "Perhaps a nice rejuvenating potion might help," he said without stopping, and disappeared through the door.  
  
***********  
  
The rejuvenating potion did wonders, restoring Roxanne's sapped strength and lifting her spirits. And the brewing time was well spent, organizing her thoughts, planning tactics, reviewing counter-curses, jinxes and hexes. She lay on her back, head resting on her hands, on one of the worktables, as she listened for the telltale hiss that would announce when the potion was finished.  
  
She could smell breakfast as she came out of the dungeons and decided a quick glance into the Great Hall might tell her who she'd be up against next. The only ones missing were Moody, whom she hoped was still locked safely in her room, and Lupin. But Sirius spotted her, and wiping his mouth with his napkin, rose quickly and stole through a side door.  
  
Roxanne sprinted for the stairs and leaped up them two and three at a time for several flights, her sneakers padding quietly on the smooth stone. She stopped on the fourth floor landing, struggling to control her panting, straining to hear signs of pursuit from below.  
  
She froze. The sound of footsteps from behind caught her off guard and she spun around, drawing her wand.  
  
"Professor!" she gasped. It was Snape. A twinge jolted through the scar on her back at the sight of him, and she shuddered almost imperceptibly. He stopped suddenly, hands up, a look of fierce surprise on his face.  
  
"What is going on?" he hissed.  
  
Roxanne blinked stupidly for a moment, before lowering her wand. "You- You're here."  
  
"Excellent deduction, Miss Stewart," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "What is going on here?"  
  
"Sirius Black is after me," she said, scanning the stairs for any sign of Black. At Snape's look of alarm, she quickly explained about the exam. Snape grasped her elbow and led her into an empty classroom nearby.  
  
"How are you doing?" he asked.  
  
She sighed. "Not that well. Moody leg-locked me, and Dobby poisoned me, and-"  
  
"No. Not the exam." He took her hand and looked into her eyes. "How are you?"  
  
She looked at him puzzled. She'd become so focused on the test it took a moment to understand what he was asking. "Oh, you mean-- I'm fine. Mostly. The Mark-it's still-"  
  
"I know." Snape turned away, massaging his forehead. For the first time, Roxanne noticed how tired he looked.  
  
"Professor?" she began hesitantly. "Are you back? To stay?"  
  
"No," he said heavily. "I've come to see Dumbledore. It's best," he said, eyeing her sternly, "if no one else know I've been here."  
  
"I understand. But I wish you could stay."  
  
He looked at her, puzzled.  
  
"I'm making a mess of your potions classes," she said dejectedly. "I don't know what I'm doing. How Dumbledore expects me to have the fifth and seventh years ready for their exams is beyond me. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be teaching them."  
  
"I imagine you're learning a great deal," Snape reassured. He fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. "Here, take these. They're the keys to my office. You should find everything you need in there. Mind you don't lose those, or I'll have your hide when I do return."  
  
Roxanne nodded gratefully and stowed the keys safely in her jeans pocket.  
  
"I'm relieved to see you're well," Snape said quietly. "The sneakoscope- you wear it always?'  
  
She grasped the device that hung hidden beneath her shirt and nodded.  
  
"Not much help today, I imagine."  
  
"Why not?" she asked. She'd been wondering about it all morning.  
  
"Moody is not out to deceive you. He's helping you. The sneakoscope detects intent as well as deception. It will work perfectly for you when the deception is accompanied by malice. Today, you will be better served to rely on your intuition. Use it as you would your eyes and ears. If you had done that on Halloween night-" He stopped suddenly, then shook his head.  
  
"I might have escaped?" she suggested.  
  
"No. You would not have escaped. You might have managed to take one of them to hell with you. But you would not have escaped." Snape sat heavily in a chair, rubbing at his temples as if trying to force thoughts from his head.  
  
"Professor, what is it?"  
  
"I will not ask you for what I do not deserve." He spoke quietly.  
  
"What don't you deserve?"  
  
"As long as the sight of me fills your mind with visions of that night, I do not deserve forgiveness." He had seen her shudder, then-seen the flicker of fear in her eyes.  
  
"Why did you-" Roxanne began.  
  
"I am working with Dumbledore. I've rejoined the Death Eaters, hoping to discover Voldemort's plans-"  
  
"No. I know all that."  
  
He looked at her quizzically.  
  
"Dumbledore explained it to me, when I was still-still in the infirmary. Why did you save my life?"  
  
Snape looked at her for a long time, but would say nothing, and finally stood and strode slowly toward the door. Refusing to meet her eyes, he said, "I need to see Dumbledore," and swept out, leaving the door swinging open. Roxanne stared after him, watching until he disappeared around a corner.  
  
**********  
  
For the next hour Roxanne wandered the castle, seeing no one, hearing nothing, trying to practice her sixth sense as Snape suggested. But the thoughts of their conversation kept interfering, distracting her. She found it impossible to focus on the task that still loomed ahead and eventually wandered to Professor Dumbledore's office, spoke the password that opened the hidden staircase and knocked on his door.  
  
"Come," she heard the Headmaster call from within. Inside she found Professor Moody.  
  
"I hope you don't mind," Dumbledore began. "I needed to speak with Alastor. You may continue to consider him effectively neutralized. He will not interfere with your exam."  
  
Roxanne nodded and looked around the office. She could see no one else.  
  
"Severus has left, Miss Stewart," the Headmaster said, accurately reading her thoughts and beckoning for her to sit. "I assured him you are doing a more than adequate job of teaching for him. He seemed pleased."  
  
She remained on her feet. "I asked him why he saved my life. He wouldn't tell me."  
  
"I will not tell you either," said Dumbledore.  
  
"You know, then?"  
  
"Yes. I know. But that question is not mine to answer-it is his."  
  
She nodded again and took the offered seat, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.  
  
Moody eyed her. "Your task still awaits, Miss Stewart," he said firmly.  
  
She groaned. "I'm sorry. I can't get Professor Snape out of my mind."  
  
"Danger will not give you time to catch your breath or organize your thoughts. You must carry your burdens with you and do the best you can. After all, often the best way to learn to fly is to jump," Moody growled, smiling encouragingly.  
  
Roxanne gave in to Moody's urging with a slow nod and stood wearily. He came to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Trust your instincts. And don't hesitate to do harm. Madame Pomfrey can fix whomever you manage to break." He winked and scooted her out the door.  
  
**********  
  
As Dumbledore's door clicked shut behind her, she took a deep determined breath, straightened her robes, gritted her teeth and set off. She wandered, unsure where she would need to be to meet her next challenge. She found herself at the library door and stepped inside. It was dark and silent. Madame Pince had gone away for the holiday-although where Roxanne couldn't imagine. Perhaps she had a twin sister somewhere, and they'd sit scowling nastily at each other all week.  
  
Roxanne wandered through the stillness, careful to look up and down each long row of bookshelves before passing. She was nearly to the far end when she heard the door crash open behind her. She whirled around, wand raised.  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood, silhouetted against the light streaming in from the corridor. The blood drained from her face. He came at her resolutely, drawing something shiny from his robes. As he neared, she could see the undulating blade and the green eyed serpent-handle of a dagger-the dagger.  
  
"I'm going to cut your heart out, you filthy mudblood bitch!" he hissed, raising the dagger to throw.  
  
Roxanne stumbled backward a few steps before remembering the wand in her hand.  
  
"ST-STUPEFY!" she shouted. Nothing happened and the knife shot through the air. She tried to spin out of its path, but it caught her on the shoulder, neatly slicing through her robes and cutting into her flesh as it passed. The dagger crashed against the bookshelves and fell to the floor. Malfoy cursed and came after her, reaching for his wand.  
  
"IMPEDIMENTA! STUPEFY!" Roxanne shouted in a high panicked voice. Still nothing happened. Malfoy kept coming, was nearly on her.  
  
"RIDDIKULUS!" she bellowed loudly, the answer dawning on her suddenly-a boggart. A loud explosion, a puff of smoke and Lucius Malfoy was gone. The dagger as well. The wound was not.  
  
Roxanne clamped her hand over it, felt the warm stickiness of blood, felt the sting of pain as the adrenaline subsided. She tore long strips of cloth from the bottom of her robes and bound herself up as best she could, not knowing if she'd be able to make it to the hospital wing before meeting her next challenge, but deciding to try.  
  
The corridor outside the library was empty. Roxanne thought she heard the shuffle of feet, but the sound did not last long enough for her to be certain, and silence settled in again.  
  
"Intuition," she thought. "Trust your intuition." Since Halloween, every molecule of instinct seemed to have been telling her to get the hell out of there-to fly away from Hogwarts, leave the wizard world. But somewhere deep down, she felt a growing calm, a strength of purpose that kept her there and now calmed her, clarifying her mind, stiffening her wobbly knees. So when she turned a corner and saw Remus there waiting for her, she was ready for him.  
  
He was leaning against a wall, biting into a large yellow apple. He spotted the tear at the shoulder of her robes. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking a step toward her.  
  
She pointed her wand at him. "Just a scratch," she lied.  
  
"Was it Sirius?" he asked, frowning. "No. The boggart."  
  
Lupin frowned again. Roxanne held her wand ready.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
She nodded once.  
  
"I tried to keep Moody from using it. I-"  
  
"Are you going to make your move or not, Remus?" she said coldly, waving her wand impatiently.  
  
He laughed and took another bite of apple, savoring its sweetness and grunting with satisfaction as he swallowed.  
  
"MMM. Hungry?" he asked.  
  
Roxanne ignored him, ignored her hunger, eyed the apple jealously. She'd eaten nothing since the poisoned jam some eight or nine hours ago.  
  
"I think I have another here somewhere," he said, feeling around in his pockets. "Yes. Here it is."  
  
Roxanne stiffened, ready to defend herself. But the only thing to come from Lupin's pocket was, indeed, another apple, which he held up temptingly. Roxanne glared at him. "Do I look like Snow White?"  
  
"Come on, Roxanne. It's only an apple. Here you go." And he tossed it in a high arch toward her. Roxanne watched the apple for a moment, but a sudden movement caught her eye and she looked down to see Remus, wand drawn.  
  
"EXPELLIARMUS!" he shouted. But Roxanne dove to the side, rolling onto the floor, wand still in hand. The spell hit a suit of armor instead and a heavily spiked mace soared through the air straight at Remus.  
  
She pointed her wand and shouted "STUPEFY!" Lupin froze. The mace struck him in the chest with a dull thwack and he fell heavily, striking his head on the stone wall, and slumping like a broken marionette, to the floor.  
  
Roxanne sprang to her feet, wand still raised, and paced cautiously toward his lifeless body. His robes were badly torn, and Roxanne could see splotches of blood. She kicked his toe. "Remus? Remus, are you all right?"  
  
Stowing her wand, she knelt down beside him and gently slapped his cheeks. "Remus?"  
  
In a flash he had her wrists and flung her on her back, smacking her head on the floor and knocking the wind out of her. He held her down as she forced herself to suck in a lungful of air.  
  
"You should have finished me off when you had the chance," he whispered.  
  
"I-I thought-I-had," she gasped.  
  
"You thought wrong. I learned that little trick from my dad. Worked quite nicely, don't you think?" he boasted, pinning her down with a knee on her chest.  
  
But Roxanne saw her chance and acted quickly. With all her strength she brought up one knee, striking him squarely between the legs. Remus gasped and rolled onto the floor, doubled up and groaning. She stood up, brushed off her robes and pulled her wand out, pointing it at him.  
  
"I learned that little trick from an old boyfriend. Worked quite nicely, don't you think?" she taunted.  
  
Professor McGonagall appeared at her shoulder.  
  
"Well done, Miss Stewart. You've successfully dispatched Mr. Lupin," she said tartly. "Now put away your wand and help me get him to the hospital wing."  
  
Roxanne did as she was told, helping Remus gingerly to his feet and supporting him as he limped painfully along.  
  
He collapsed onto a bed, doubled up again, and groaned weakly as Madame Pomfrey shooed Roxanne away and surrounded the bed with screens. Professor McGonagall sat Roxanne on another bed and examined her shoulder.  
  
"Nothing serious," she said poking at the cut, making Roxanne wince. "It will only take a few minutes to fix up. You'll need to be in good shape for your final challenge. Is there anything you need.?"  
  
"I'm starving. Is there any way-"  
  
"I'll have something sent up from the kitchen."  
  
Roxanne's eyes widened.  
  
"I assure you, it will be perfectly safe," Professor McGonagall said, smiling slightly.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne refused to leave the hospital wing until she was certain Remus would be all right. Madame Pomfrey finally relented and allowed her to come behind the screen and speak to him. He lay, bare-chested, with a large bandage over the area where the mace had wounded him.  
  
"It looks like I owe you some new robes," she said pointing to the heap of cloth on the floor.  
  
"No. You don't have to-"  
  
"I want to," she insisted.  
  
"If I were you," said Madame Pomfrey to Remus, examining beneath the bandage, "I wouldn't argue with her."  
  
"Will you be up for Diagon Alley tomorrow?"  
  
Remus looked at Madame Pomfrey who nodded knowingly.  
  
"Looks like it," he said. "After breakfast?"  
  
Roxanne smiled and nodded.  
  
**********  
  
A full stomach can go along way toward lightening one's mood, Roxanne discovered-although the thought of spending tomorrow with Remus helped as well-and she fairly floated through the castle in search of Sirius Black.  
  
She entered the Great Hall through a side door behind the Head Table after fruitlessly searching much of the castle. As the hour grew late, Roxanne grew impatient to have the exam finished. She would not miss another meal over it-especially for the sake of Sirius Black.  
  
She climbed onto the Hufflepuff table and began to walk its length.  
  
"SIRIUS BLACK!" she shouted loudly when she'd reached the table's center, the sound echoing through the castle. "I'M HERE! I'M WAITING FOR YOU!" And she sat, cross-legged, pulled her wand from her robes, set it on the table in front of her, and waited.  
  
But not for long. Sirius appeared in the main doorway, his arms folded, his wand resting in the crook of his arm, a smug grin on his face.  
  
She sat perfectly still, hands on her knees as if meditating, staring at him keenly.  
  
"I understand you defeated the boggart," he said  
  
She remained silent.  
  
"And Remus," he continued.  
  
Still she did not respond.  
  
"You think you're ready for me, do you?" And he hopped lightly to the top of the table and strode slowly toward her.  
  
"Give it your best shot," she hissed, a playfully sinister smirk on her face.  
  
Black laughed. "It seems there's more to you than I believed. You know, I've been looking forward to this all day." And moving too quickly for Roxanne to have any hope of countering, he swished his wand bellowing "PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!"  
  
Black's wand burst into a large bunch of long-stemmed red roses. He stood, staring at them, too stunned to speak.  
  
Roxanne picked up her wand, stood slowly, savoring the moment, and took the roses from him.  
  
"For me? Why thank you, Mr. Black," she cooed sarcastically. "Now turn around and march!" she commanded, her voice suddenly threatening.  
  
He raised his hands high and did as he was told, still too numb with shock at the turn of events to come up with a defense, let alone a nasty retort. Roxanne stayed several paces behind him-far enough to keep him from getting to her before she could jinx him-and marched him outside and across the snow covered grounds. Black began searching around him, looking for a way out, something he could use to attack her with.  
  
As they approached the lake, he grew desperate, until he finally decided his only chance was to run for it. He leaped to the side and sprinted madly toward Hagrid's cabin, but Roxanne's aim had been expertly perfected under Professor Flitwick's careful tutelage, and she had him easily.  
  
"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" she called, almost lazily, and Sirius floated lightly into the air, swinging up and up and out over the lake. With a dramatic flourish, Roxanne cut the spell, dropping Black twenty feet into the cold black water.  
  
**********  
  
Dear Fred and George, The trick wand worked beautifully. Be sure to ask Sirius all about it when you get the chance. Moody even gave me extra credit!  
  
Roxanne P.S. Thanks for the roses and Merry Christmas! 


	15. Moony and Hooks

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Moony and Hooks  
  
A second letter arrived at the Burrow with the one for the twins. It was addressed to Mr. And Mrs. Arthur Weasley in the same stylized, slightly messy, but readable script.  
  
(Dear Arthur and Molly,  
  
I've finally come up with a way to say thank you to everyone here who have helped make this new phase of my life slightly less confusing. Please bring your family to Hogwarts on December 31st, 7:00 p.m. for a dinner and New Year's Ever party in your honor.  
  
RSVP  
  
Roxanne Stewart)  
  
Similar letters went to the entire Hogwarts staff-even Mundungus Fletcher- Sirius, Remus, Harry, and Hermione. She decided wisely against inviting Professor Snape. If intercepted, the letter could prove very dangerous, if not deadly, for him. She'd have to thank him another way, another time.  
  
**********  
  
With only two days until Christmas, Remus and Roxanne traveled by Portkey to Diagon Alley. They stopped first at Florian Fortiscue's parlor for the promised hot cocoa and a paper bag bulging with warm roast chestnuts. Afterward, at the robe shop, Remus stood patiently as Madame Malkin tailored a handsome set of charcoal gray robes and a cloak ("For Christmas," Roxanne said firmly) to fit.  
  
Roxanne sent Remus alone into the apothecary with a long list of supplies she needed to properly repair the damage done by Mundungus Fletcher. Lupin's potion would have to be started tonight in order to have it done in time. Meanwhile, Roxanne disappeared through the crowds of last-minute shoppers, appearing twenty minutes later, empty-handed, but with a satisfied smile on her face.  
  
Remus questioned her. She refused to answer, laughing at his child-like curiosity and saying only, "You'll have to wait until New Year's Eve, Mr. Lupin."  
  
**********  
  
Back at Hogwarts late that afternoon, Remus helped her with her purchases, filling empty jars and bottles and setting them in their proper places on the shelves. They then stood side by side, chopping, measuring and brewing Lupin's potion. They would need to be up late getting it started, then check on it periodically over the next several days, adding ingredients on the third and fifth days, stirring morning and night. Remus brought a late dinner down. They ate and talked, exchanging pasts-Remus finally getting up the nerve to ask about the boyfriend who'd taught her the painfully effective self-defense technique she'd used on him.  
  
"He was a police officer, actually," she explained. "It was a very short relationship-only lasted a week. We met when I was arrested for public intoxication in Las Vegas. He put me in the drunk tank that night, let me out in the morning (after my father wired money for the fine) and took me to his place."  
  
Remus seemed to grow very uncomfortable at the direction the story was taking, so Roxanne stopped.  
  
"So," she said, changing the subject, "tell me about your first day at Hogwarts."  
  
Remus smiled gratefully and told of the generosity of Dumbledore, the pride of his parents, meeting Sirius and James Potter on the train, the sorting and the first awkward days. He told of his friends' discovery of his condition ("They thought my being a werewolf was cool-tells you bit about their personalities."), and the adventures they had together. They laughed, talked and worked until the early morning hours. Remus walked Roxanne to her door, where he took her hand.  
  
"Roxanne," he said, looking at her hand resting comfortably in his. Roxanne thought she knew what he was about to ask her-hoping he would. "May I kiss you?"  
  
She laughed lightly-this was not the question she expected.  
  
"Did I say something funny?" he asked, puzzled and a little disappointed.  
  
"No!" She smiled and squeezed his hand. "It's just-well-no one's ever asked me for a kiss."  
  
"Never?"  
  
She frowned. "I've never been involved with the kind of man who would, I guess."  
  
"I see. Like the police officer?"  
  
She nodded, looking away from his troubled gray eyes. But he lifted her chin, and leaned in close until his lips were nearly touching hers. "I'd still like to kiss you, if that's OK," he whispered.  
  
Roxanne nodded, timidly, a smile playing on her lips. They kissed, gently, warmly. She'd never been kissed like that before-with affection and tenderness.  
  
"Goodnight, Roxanne," he whispered.  
  
"Goodnight, Remus." She watched him until he disappeared around a corner, then slipped inside, undressed and climbed into bed. She lay awake for another hour or more, trying feverishly to work out the confusing new feelings that tingled through her mind and body.  
  
**********  
  
It seemed she'd just closed her eyes when a knock at Roxanne's door woke her, but the gray light filtering in through the windows told her she'd been asleep for at least a few hours. She could see snow falling heavily outside as she rose and put on her dressing gown.  
  
It was Sirius. He had large snowflakes still clinging to his black hair. "Is Remus here?" he growled acidly, straining to see into the room.  
  
"No," she said in a low voice, angry at Sirius' implication. "See for yourself." And she flung the door wide and stood, arms crossed, eyes flashing as Sirius scanned the room.  
  
"Do you know where he is? He didn't come in last night."  
  
Roxanne frowned. "He left me-at my door-around two a.m."  
  
Sirius growled.  
  
"Give me a minute. I'll get dressed and help you look," she said.  
  
Sirius waited for her, pacing in the corridor. She dressed quickly, pulling on a heavy sweater and a pair of faded jeans with her wand sticking out of a pocket. They split up, running and calling throughout the castle. Roxanne apologized to Professor McGonagall for waking her-it was still very early on Christmas Eve. Between them they managed to wake nearly everyone. Mundungus Fletcher, though, was a heavy sleeper and did not stir.  
  
A thorough search of the castle yielded nothing. Sirius' mood worsened and he snapped at Roxanne when she came out of the dungeons alone.  
  
"Nothing?" he roared.  
  
She shook her head, quiet with worry. Certainly he would have said something, to one of them, if he were going somewhere.  
  
"Sirius. What's wrong?" It was Harry, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair uncombed-but only slightly more disheveled than usual.  
  
Sirius blinked at him, an odd expression on his face like he'd just been smacked. "The map," he whispered. "Harry, where's the map," he said, taking Harry by the arm and leading him back toward Gryffindor tower, Roxanne jogging to keep up with his long, hurried strides.  
  
"What map?" she asked. "How can a map help?" But Sirius ignored her, and Harry was being shoved forward too quickly to have a chance to answer.  
  
At the portrait of the fat lady, Harry muttered the password-"holly berries." The fat lady hesitated, her eyes widening at the sight of Sirius Black. He was clean-shaven with short, combed hair and clean robes now, but there was no forgetting the fierce hollow darkness in those eyes. She shuddered, but opened the passageway for them, only somewhat reassured by Dumbledore's explanation two years ago, that Sirius was in fact on their side. Under Sirius' stern gaze she dared not remind Roxanne that she was not allowed in Gryffindor Tower, and Roxanne followed Harry and Sirius into the spacious common room and up the stairs to Harry's room.  
  
Harry dug in his trunk and pulled out an old, folded piece of parchment. Sirius snatched it from his hands and spread it on Harry's bed, then pulled his wand from his robes and placed the tip on the paper.  
  
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he muttered quickly, and instantly thin black lines snaked from his wand tip and soon filled the page with a map of Hogwarts-castle and grounds. Sirius scanned it quickly until he found what he was looking for-a tiny black dot with the word "Moony" in a tiny box next to it.  
  
He breathed a sigh and sat on the bed.  
  
"He's in Dumbledore's office," he said to the intent stares of Harry and Roxanne. Harry looked at the map, saw the name Sirius had indicated. "You've been looking for Remus?"  
  
"He didn't come in last night," explained Sirius. "I thought-" he stopped and looked to Roxanne, but she was gone, the door to the room still swinging slightly.  
  
Sirius groaned. "Damn!"  
  
"Sirius?"  
  
"I owe her an apology," he sighed.  
  
**********  
  
At Roxanne's knock, Dumbledore opened the door and let her in, placing his finger to his lips, then pointing to the sofa that sat in the adjoining study. Remus lay sprawled among the cushions, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, a pillow held to his chest, fast asleep.  
  
She sighed and sank heavily into a soft high-backed chair.  
  
"He's been here all night-well since two or so anyway," Dumbledore explained quietly, accurately reading Roxanne's worried gaze. "We talked for awhile, he fell asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake him."  
  
Sirius burst into the office, the door banging loudly as it swung wide. Remus flinched and woke, sitting up suddenly, knocking several pillows to the floor. Roxanne jumped up from her chair and, casting a menacing glare toward Sirius, moved to the sofa and sat down next to Remus who was running his fingers through his unkempt hair.  
  
"Roxanne-" he began.  
  
But Sirius interrupted. "Roxanne, I'm sorry about this morning," he blurted.  
  
Remus, brow furrowed, brain still a bit foggy, looked at his old friend, then Roxanne and back.  
  
"Sorry for what?" he asked, blinking confusedly.  
  
Roxanne looked down at her knees. Sirius looked at the floor.  
  
"I came looking for you this morning," he began quietly. "I went to Roxanne's room first. I thought-"  
  
"I see," said Remus gravely. "I thought you knew me better than that Sirius."  
  
"She's not exactly a lady, Remus," Sirius spat, regretting the words as they tumbled from his mouth.  
  
"And you're not exactly a gentleman, are you," said Remus sternly, taking Roxanne's hand in his. Black hung his head again.  
  
"Forgive me, Remus. When I found you hadn't come in last night I-well, I assumed-"  
  
"You assumed wrong. If you care to know, Roxanne and I were up late preparing my potion. I left her at her door and wandered the castle for, who knows how long. I couldn't sleep. I met Dumbledore in the kitchen-"  
  
"Midnight snack," Dumbledore explained, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"We came here and talked. I must've fallen asleep sometime after-" Remus paused. "Well, sometime."  
  
The Headmaster looked at the two men. "Now is not the time to be letting such matters come between you, gentlemen. Our strength will lie in our unity. I suggest the two of you run off for breakfast and work very hard to sort this out."  
  
Sirius nodded. Remus stood, bent to kiss Roxanne lightly on the cheek and whispered, "Stay here. I believe the Headmaster wants to speak to you," and strode to Sirius. Black held out his hand, which Remus ignored.  
  
"Perhaps," called Dumbledore, "it would be best if you left your wands here." Sirius gritted his teeth, but removed his wand from his robes and placed it on the desk. Remus only nodded, agreeing with Dumbledore's obvious wisdom and did the same, then followed Sirius out the door.  
  
"A cup of tea? Oh, nearly forgot. Shall I have breakfast brought up, then?" Dumbledore said to Roxanne.  
  
Suddenly very hungry, Roxanne thanked him. He went to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of powder and called into the sudden burst of green flame, "Dobby! Breakfast for two in my study please."  
  
In a few seconds a small feast appeared on the table in the windowed alcove at the far end of the room. Dumbledore reached for Roxanne, who took his hand and stood. He placed her hand gently on his arm and led her to a chair with a stunning view of the forest and lake. They ate and talked, the conversation light, Dumbledore complimenting her on her progress and entertaining her with tales from less troublesome times, asking how her plans for New Year's Eve were coming.  
  
At last breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared.  
  
"You and Remus seem to be quite close," Dumbledore observed, sipping at a steaming cup of tea.  
  
Roxanne nodded, smiling warmly, her cheeks pinking slightly.  
  
"Remus is very fond of you, Miss Stewart. But there are things you must understand."  
  
Roxanne was confused. "I already know he's a werewolf-" she began.  
  
"Yes. And you know enough to not be bothered by that. Certainly there are problems to be considered when one pursues a relationship with a werewolf. However, what I am going to tell you now does not concern that." Dumbledore paused, gathering his thoughts. "Remus is struggling with himself. His desire for you is very strong."  
  
"I would have liked him to stay with me last night," Roxanne whispered.  
  
"And he would have been very tempted to do so," Dumbledore said. "But you must understand the wizard conception of the creative powers. In the muggle world from whence you came, physical love is often flung about with little regard for the power it possesses. The few who still revere and respect it are often ridiculed, correct?"  
  
Roxanne nodded, looking at her hands folded on the table.  
  
"A witch and wizard who save themselves for one another, bonding their minds and bodies in an oath of marriage, possess a combined strength that is greater than the sum of their individual powers. Remus desires you. But his desire to give you this strength is greater."  
  
"But I'm not-I've already-" she stammered.  
  
"Did your father not talk to you of these things? At all?"  
  
"My father didn't talk to me about much of anything," she said bitterly.  
  
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "With all my magic I cannot undo what has been done. Your past will no doubt weaken your bond with Remus, but if you exercise self-control, help him resist, you may find you have more power than you think."  
  
"Would it be best if we-if I left?" she asked.  
  
"Miss Stewart, I hope you don't believe I implied any such thing. You are very much wanted, and needed here." The Headmaster looked at her directly, showing by his stern gaze that he meant what he said. "I simply ask, for Remus' sake-for all our sakes-that you proceed cautiously."  
  
Roxanne nodded. "I don't really know how."  
  
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. Anyone who can outwit Sirius Black will have no trouble with something like this."  
  
She sat silently, drumming her fingers on the table, gazing fixedly out the window. "This bond-this power. It couldn't save Harry's parents."  
  
"No. It could not. But, it helped save Harry," Dumbledore said slowly, watching her keenly over the top of his spectacles.  
  
**********  
  
After leaving Dumbledore's office, Remus led the way, with Sirius striding sullenly a few paces behind, to the staff room. They found Mundungus Fletcher there, completely boring Professor Flitwick with over-glorified exploits of his younger days.  
  
"Excuse me, gentlemen. May I ask a favor?" said Remus politely.  
  
"Certainly, certainly, Mr. Lupin," Fletcher said loudly. "These young wizards are always seeking my advice, you know," he whispered pompously to Flitwick who rolled his eyes.  
  
"I wonder if we might use the staff room."  
  
"Oh, of course," said Fletcher, disappointed. Flitwick gladly cleared the room, rushing out before Fletcher could catch him. Fletcher gathered his things and walked glumly out.  
  
Sirius locked the door behind Fletcher and turned to his friend. "I said I was sorry, Remus. What more do you want?"  
  
"I want you to understand that I am not going to give up Roxanne because you want it," Lupin growled, rounding on him.  
  
"It's not what I expect-"  
  
"It's exactly what you expect. It's always been that way. It's always been your way, damn the consequences!" shouted Lupin pacing in a wide circle around Sirius.  
  
"Now, hold on! You and James didn't have any trouble going along with me."  
  
"Stupidly, no. We went along with whatever Sirius wanted. Lucky for all of us James had a fit of common sense and the nerve to do something about it. But Sirius isn't getting his way. Not this time. And it's eating at you!"  
  
"She's not right for you! She doesn't belong here!" Sirius spat, scowling darkly at Remus.  
  
"We've been through this before. If she doesn't belong here then I certainly don't. And as for being right for me-since when are you the authority on what's right for me. You only really know, or care, what's right for Sirius Black."  
  
"I'm only trying to-"  
  
"I know what you're trying to do!"  
  
Lupin stopped pacing, his shoulders sagged, his head dropped and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I know what you're trying to do. I understand the kind of burden you must bear," said Lupin quietly, his heart aching for Sirius, for all the innocence and carefree life lost to the malice of Voldemort and the walls of Azkaban prison. "But Sirius, Roxanne is committed to help us, to help you with that burden. She's pledged her life to Harry."  
  
"I can't be certain about her, Remus. A pledge from you-I trust that. I know you. She's a girl with a less than honorable past. And her ancestry- blood runs thicker than water, Remus."  
  
Lupin sat heavily in a chair near the fireplace and stared into the flames.  
  
"Did you know," he began, his voice low, his eyes troubled, "that the dagger they used to cut her belonged to her grandfather?"  
  
Sirius' eyes widened. "Are you certain?"  
  
Lupin nodded slowly. "We found it-in a shop on Knockturn Alley. I, er, persuaded the shopkeeper to tell me who sold it to him. There was still blood on the blade. The bastard hadn't even bothered to clean it. She believes he was there that night-that he took part willingly."  
  
Sirius sat slowly in a chair facing Lupin's.  
  
"There is no blood tie for her, Sirius," Lupin said, looking his friend squarely in the eye. "She's done away with everything that reminds her of her ancestry. And as for her past-we all have a past." He looked at Sirius intently. "I will forever be grateful to you and James for not judging me by mine."  
  
Sirius' brow furrowed deeply and he looked away from Lupin's penetrating gaze.  
  
"What is it about her, Remus?" Sirius asked.  
  
"That makes me love her? I suppose because she reminds me so much of my best friend," Lupin answered.  
  
"Me?" asked Sirius, incredulous.  
  
"In many ways, yes." Remus sat up, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. "Dumbledore is always saying he doesn't believe in chance," Lupin went on. "Have you seen Roxanne's tattoo?"  
  
"Tattoo? I didn't know she had one?" answered Sirius curiously.  
  
"It's on her collarbone. She had it done years ago. It's a lion."  
  
**********  
  
Christmas morning dawned bright, the snowy mountain peaks bathed in the pale pink of early dawn, the clear cold sky lightening from indigo to azure. The new snow sparkled with brilliant diamond-like pinpoints as it rolled seamlessly over the grounds of Hogwarts castle.  
  
Harry woke from a deep, restful sleep and flung the drapes from around his four-poster.  
  
"Sirius!" he called. "Remus! Wake up! It's Christmas!" After four previous Christmases at Hogwarts, Harry had grown more and more delighted by the excitement of the holiday. Nine Christmases with the Dursley's had nearly squelched the kind of child-like joy that is every child's right at Christmas. But through all the misery he'd endured at the hands of his cruel relatives, Harry Potter somehow came out the other end full of courage and all the good graces worthy of a true Gryffindor.  
  
Sirius and Remus had come to an amicable understanding after hours of talking in the staffroom the day before, and then joined Harry in Gryffindor tower after dinner. The three had stayed up late, growing sleepy in front of the warm fire. Then retired to the 5th year bedroom. Sirius was sprawled on Ron's bed, on his stomach, his face buried in the pillows. Remus had slept across the room in Seamus' bed, but he was already up and dressed.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "I tried to be quiet. I need to check on my potion-give it a stir."  
  
"Bring her back here, then," yawned Sirius, winking at Harry. Harry grinned and looked at Lupin who blushed and sputtered, gave up, nodded and dashed out the door. He could hear Harry and Sirius laughing as he skipped lightly down the stairs.  
  
Roxanne did not answer his knock. Thinking she might be in the potions classroom, he went there next. She wasn't there either. Puzzled, he returned to Gryffindor tower, knocking uselessly at her door once more on the way.  
  
Sirius and Harry looked at him, puzzled that he'd come back alone, and with a look of deep disappointment on his face.  
  
"I couldn't find her," he said gloomily. "Harry, could I borrow the map?"  
  
Harry dug the map out once more. This time Lupin activated it, mumbling the words hurriedly.  
  
"That's odd," he said and walked out again.  
  
Sirius and Harry looked at the map to see what was odd. They found the tiny dot labeled 'Roxanne Stewart' at the top of the North Tower.  
  
**********  
  
After a long climb, Remus emerged, breathless, into the cold. The rising sun glared in his eyes as he looked around the high platform. There was no sign of Roxanne. He stood leaning over the turret, scanning the walkways below.  
  
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bird swooped down, grazing his hair and screeching loudly at him before speeding into the sky again. One arm up, shielding his eyes from the sun, he scanned above him looking for it. The bird attacked again, this time coming straight at him from the silver circle of the sun, snagging his robes with sharp talons before speeding over the wall and diving towards the ground a dozen stories below.  
  
Remus looked over the wall, but the bird was gone again.  
  
A voice behind him made him jump nearly out of his skin.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Lupin spun around to find Roxanne, standing atop the stone wall, looking down at him with a surprised smile.  
  
"I-I came looking for you. To wish you a Happy Christmas," he stammered. "Where were you?" he said slowly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.  
  
"I've been up here for a couple of hours-doing some homework."  
  
"Homework? What kind of-" but he stopped suddenly, the realization dawning on him. "The bird-that was you!"  
  
In answer, she spun on her toes and dove off into the empty air, Remus scrambling to catch her. She fell several stories before making a smooth transformation to the sleek gray and white falcon that had tormented him moments ago.  
  
His heart beat madly. Moments later the bird landed lightly atop the wall again and transformed, smiling smugly, into Roxanne.  
  
Remus grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to the floor. "Don't-do- that-again!" he gasped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That-that dive-off the wall! I thought you were done for!"  
  
"I'm fine! Did you see me?" she said excitedly bouncing on her toes, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"Yes! I saw you! But how?"  
  
"Professor McGonagall and I have been working on it for nearly a month."  
  
"McGonagall taught you how to become an animagus?" he said, stunned.  
  
"Dumbledore suggested it," she said brightly.  
  
Remus whistled. "And in only a month? It took James and Sirius three years to figure it out."  
  
"Sirius?" she said, eyeing him skeptically.  
  
"Sorry, I assumed you knew."  
  
Roxanne shook her head.  
  
"They did it while we were in school-Peter as well. None of them are registered. We were reckless back then," he said shaking his head. "They could easily have gotten themselves killed." He chuckled softly. "Three years."  
  
"Then, they didn't have Professor McGonagall's help?"  
  
"Lupin laughed. "If she'd known-they'd have been expelled. Wands snapped and everything."  
  
"I love it-flying, I mean," Roxanne said, gazing into the sky, the sun sparkling in her clear blue eyes. "Now I do, anyway. I'm a disaster on a broomstick."  
  
Remus laughed and took her in his arms. "I'm proud of you," he said. "But you need a name."  
  
"A name?" she asked, puzzled.  
  
"Hmm," he said rubbing his chin and looking at her closely, thinking of his first encounter with her animagus form. "Screech, perhaps. Or Hooks," he suggested rubbing his scratched shoulder.  
  
She smirked. "Screech?"  
  
"Hooks then?"  
  
She nodded, smiling.  
  
"Roxanne," Remus said quietly, "may I kiss you again?"  
  
She answered by leaning close, her lips touching his.  
  
The kiss was long and passionate.  
  
"Remus," she said breathlessly, "you don't need to ask again.  
  
**********  
  
New Year's Eve, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black strode through the castle headed for breakfast in the Great Hall, smiling and talking quietly. Sirius left Remus at Roxanne Stewart's door, patting him on the back and shaking his head in mock sadness.  
  
Lupin straightened his robes, smoothed his hair and knocked. He heard her footsteps as she came to the door. His heart tripped lightly at the sound in his anticipation to see her face.  
  
She was dressed and waiting for him, and when she opened the door he swept her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, without asking, then without a word led her downstairs. But instead of turning left into the Great Hall, he led her to the right, down into the dungeons and into the potions classroom. He sat her at a worktable and pulled a second chair close to hers.  
  
"What are we doing here?" she asked, a worried expression on her face. The last time he'd done something like this he'd told her some very interesting things about himself and persuaded her to spend an agonizing day making a difficult potion.  
  
He took her hands in his and looked at his knees. "This is more difficult than I thought it would be," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"What is?" she asked, her stomach lurching.  
  
He looked at her, took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, then dropped to one knee.  
  
"Remus-" she began, eyes widening.  
  
"I brought you here because this is where I first realized I loved you," he blurted.  
  
"Remus, I-"  
  
"Please let me get this out before I lose my nerve," he said staring sternly at her. She clamped her mouth shut and nodded.  
  
"I can't give you romantic strolls under the full moon. And I know that life with a werewolf can be, well, high maintenance. But I wondered if you would marry me anyway."  
  
She looked away, tears brimming in her eyes.  
  
"Please say yes," he said quietly. "I feel like I'll die if you don't."  
  
"Why me?" she sobbed. "I'm not worthy of you."  
  
He stood and pulled her to her feet, kissing the tears from her cheeks. "It is for me to decide who is worthy of me. I hope you will find me worthy of you. I will have no one else. Say yes, Roxanne."  
  
She sobbed, burying her face in his chest. He held her, pleading silently for her to say the word he wanted to hear.  
  
"I love you, Remus," she said quietly from his shoulder.  
  
"I'll only accept that if it means you agree to marry me." He took her arms and pushed her away, forcing her to look at him.  
  
"It means yes," she said with a slight smile.  
  
Now Remus began to cry as well, pulling her close to him once more. "I love you, Roxanne," he whispered. "More than life."  
  
**********  
  
The Weasley family arrived early with plenty of daylight remaining for the boys to play a game of Quidditch. Roxanne had yet to see the game-though she'd heard about it often from Ron and Harry. Hermione seemed less interested in these conversations, but loved to watch the game. She sat with Roxanne, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, Ginny and Molly in the stands to watch.  
  
Harry and Remus played seeker, and chose up teams. Each ended up with one of the twins as beaters. Ron played keeper for Harry while Sirius played for Remus. The rest of the Weasley men played in the chaser positions-Bill and Arthur for Harry, Charlie and Percy for Remus.  
  
The play was exciting but polite-no cheap shots or outright attacks. Hermione explained to Roxanne that such behavior was the norm when Gryffindor played against Slytherin. Roxanne watched with delight at the speed and daring of the players, wishing she could be up there swooping in, out and around the field. With falcon's eyes and speed she knew she'd be able to spot the snitch and catch it almost before the game began. It would be fun to surprise Remus.  
  
But Professor McGonagall seemed to be reading her mind and shook her head meaningfully at her. Roxanne dropped her chin onto her hand disappointedly. "Why do the boys always get to have the fun?" she muttered.  
  
"I thought you hated flying," said Hermione.  
  
Professor McGonagall shot Roxanne a warning glare.  
  
"I do. They make it look fun," she answered lamely, glancing at Professor McGonagall who nodded her approval.  
  
Ron proved to be an excellent keeper and blocked shot after shot from Charlie and Percy. Bill proved too much for Sirius, though. Soon Harry's team was up 40 points to 10. Short two beaters, they'd decided to play with only one bludger, and Fred, desperate for his team to score, became increasingly aggressive, batting the heavy black ball expertly toward Bill's head or Ron's face.  
  
Remus and Harry soared high above, looking more like they were enjoying the view than taking the game very seriously. In fact, they were good- naturedly jockeying for position, swooping in large circles, straining to see past one another in search of the snitch. For once Harry met his match in keen eyesight and Remus was suddenly speeding off, in pursuit of the snitch.  
  
He'd dropped three hundred feet in a matter of seconds with Harry closing in fast on his Firebolt. Roxanne gripped the railing in front of her and stared breathlessly as the two dove toward the ground. But the snitch had zipped off and was zigzagging wildly over the field. Harry and Remus did their best to keep track of it, but lost it when it soared up into the sun.  
  
Meanwhile, Fred had managed to hit Ron squarely in the chest with a bludger and Charlie and Percy were merrily passing the quaffle back and forth, scoring 6 goals before George and Arthur managed to stop them. Arthur took over as keeper as Madame Pomfrey hurried to the pitch to patch up Ron. He lay gasping in the snow at the base of the center hoop. Molly, Ginny and Hermione hurried after her. Hermione ran to Ron and cradled his head in her lap, cooing softly to him. Roxanne was alone in the box with Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster.  
  
The sun had touched the lip of the horizon and the sky began to melt into indigos and pinks. Professor Dumbledore leaned over and whispered something in Professor McGonagall's ear. She smiled warmly, nodding, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Roxanne. Dumbledore turned to her. "It will be dark soon, Miss Stewart. Don't you think we should end this game." He winked at her merrily and nodded toward the sky. She looked at him, not understanding for a few seconds, then smiled broadly and sprinted for the exit.  
  
Seconds later a sleek bird sped over Dumbledore's head, dove toward the pitch and pulled up in a smooth arch until it was soaring a thousand feet above the game. Harry had spotted it and pointed it out to Remus. Remus smiled and looked at Harry. "If you're going to win this game, you'd better find that snitch quickly," he said mysteriously.  
  
But even as he spoke the falcon was pulling its wings close to its body and plummeting from the sky, faster and faster until it was a blur against the pink.  
  
Harry spotted the snitch a second before the bird snatched it from the air and twisted upward again, flapping smoothly, climbing again straight toward he and Remus. It landed on Remus' shoulder and waited for him to take the snitch carefully from its sharp talons before diving again and disappearing behind the stands. Remus held the snitch for the dumbfounded Harry to see and laughed.  
  
**********  
  
A larger round table had been placed in the Great Hall to accommodate the extra guests. Everyone sat and waited for Dumbledore to speak, but it was not the Headmaster who arose to announce dinner. It was Roxanne.  
  
"Thank you all for coming. I've been wracking my brain since-well, since Halloween-for some way I could show you all my appreciation. For your hospitality, your friendship, your patience, your healing. You've made this place, this life, feel like home-and I haven't felt at home anywhere in a very long time." She clapped her hands once and a golden goblet appeared before each guest. Roxanne lifted hers. "To my new family," she said, toasting the gathering.  
  
"To family!" they called back, taking generous sips of the spicy-sweet white liquid in their glasses.  
  
"Mm. What is it?" said Bill loudly.  
  
"It's called Horchata. It's from Mexico. Which brings me to dinner tonight. I've eaten so much of your lovely English food, I thought you might like a sampling of American fare tonight." She clapped her hands twice and the table filled with platters full of an odd assortment of foods. Large round trays held bowls of multi-colored corn crisps surrounded by smaller bowls of a rainbow-variety of salsas, guacamole and bean dip. There were tacos stuffed with grilled, chopped steak and tomatillos; heaping trays of New York style hot dogs piled with mustard, onions and mayonnaise; huge tureens of New England Clam Chowder and Shrimp Gumbo; Southern-style barbecued spare ribs dripping with onions, lemons and rich spicy sauce; large black pots of Texas chili, the wafts of steam only hinting at the spicy-hot flavors swimming among the beans and chunks of beef; creamy, mustard potato salad and baked beans.  
  
Roxanne laughed as they tried each dish. She could almost see smoke coming from Mr. Weasley's ears when he tried a large bite of the chili, and advised him to cool his mouth with corn crisps and guacamole. Bill and Charlie began a game of spicy-food chicken, daring each other to take larger and larger bites of whatever they thought might cause their eyes to water the most. Professor Dumbledore took a particular liking to the spare ribs, and soon had drips of the red-brown sauce on his beard and sleeves.  
  
After dinner, the table filled again with tantalizing American desserts-New York Cheesecake drizzled with bittersweet chocolate syrup; Mississippi Mud Cake; cherry, peach, and apple pies; a variety of creamy American ice creams in an unusual array of flavors; thick brownies with mint-chocolate frosting; and something called Blueberry Buckle. The house elves had outdone themselves, preparing the meal flawlessly despite their protests at Roxanne's urging that they needed to add more jalapenos to the chili. She'd not really missed home much since last summer. But Roxanne could almost picture herself in a Texas bar and grill, downing cold beer and hot chili, or in an Ohio roadside café, stuffing herself with warm apple pie and a large scoop of vanilla ice cream.  
  
But here she was, somewhere in the north of Great Britain, enjoying life more than she ever hoped she could. A sudden sinking feeling struck her though. 'This can't be real,' she thought. 'And if it is, it can't possibly last.'  
  
Remus, sitting beside her noticed her oddly subdued face and took her hand, looking at her with concern.  
  
She smiled for him and squeezed his hand.  
  
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.  
  
She nodded, and Remus stood, calling for everyone's attention. Sirius elbowed Harry, smiling and nodding. Harry, chewing stickily on a thick brownie, smiled, too.  
  
Remus cleared his throat before speaking. "I hope I can speak for everyone when I say this has been a delightful evening. I hope everyone will stay for the party-I've arranged for some music and dancing later." Roxanne looked at him in surprise, but he ignored her. "First, however, I have an announcement." He cleared his throat again and squeezed Roxanne's hand. "Much to my great pleasure and surprise, Roxanne has accepted my proposal of marriage." He smiled down at her as the others cheered and called their surprised congratulation. Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her teary eyes and Professor Dumbledore beamed, his eyes sparkling.  
  
"Have you set a date?" called Bill above the din.  
  
Roxanne shook her head. "We're open to suggestion," she said playfully.  
  
"Why not tonight?" suggested George. "We've already got a party going- dancing even."  
  
"Oh, no you don't!" scolded Mrs. Weasley. "These things take planning." The ladies at the table agreed. The men laughed.  
  
Sirius stood and raised his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast!" he called above the excited chatter. Everyone fell silent and lifted their goblets, waiting.  
  
"To a very lucky man and his lovely bride-to-be. May they enjoy a long life and loads of children!"  
  
Roxanne choked, a sudden look of panic on her face.  
  
"Roxanne?" Remus said. "Are you OK?"  
  
"CHILDREN!" she shrieked. "I hadn't thought that far ahead!"  
  
The table erupted with a roar of laughter, and after the initial shock wore off, Roxanne joined in. 


	16. A Cold London Night

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A Cold London Night  
  
Two days after a rollicking New Year's Eve party, the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade station less than half-full. No Slytherins returned. While the holidays at the school had been quiet and warm, the rest of the wizard world was gripped in fear and uncertainty. Professor Dumbledore, unwilling to spoil the holiday mood among those whom he knew he would come to depend on most, quietly fielded letters arriving from all over the world, gathering information from his many loyal supporters, replying to panicked inquiries from others who had lost faith in the Ministry of Magic. His reply to them was always the same-Be watchful, don't give up hope, prepare for the worst.  
  
Hogsmeade began filling with wizards and witches eager for the protection Hogwarts offered, and intent on doing their part to defend their families and way of life.  
  
Despite the lack of any sort of official declaration from Cornelius Fudge, few now doubted that He-who-must-not-be-named had risen again, stronger and more malicious than ever. Many fled the country altogether, or went into hiding, hoping to shield themselves with a vast army of hapless, ignorant muggles. But even the muggle world sensed something amiss. Darkness seemed to be rising-crime rates soared, the nights seemed more threatening, the stars less bright.  
  
Cornelius Fudge's contact in the Prime Minister's office spoke to him frequently. Stupidly, or perhaps by calculation, Fudge continually denied any knowledge of unusual events in the wizard world. The muggles, as far as Fudge was concerned, were on their own to grope in the dark, flinging haphazard legislation about in hopes of appeasing the muggle masses, with little or no real effect.  
  
School at Hogwarts became a basic training ground of sorts. The students were given little time for recreation. Between increasingly intensive class work and homework, the teachers encouraged participation in a new dueling club taught by Professors Moody and Flitwick. They learned, reviewed, and practiced defensive tactics against a relentless onslaught of aggressive jinxes cast by the professors. Fifth, Sixth and Seventh years were allowed to stay up late on weekends, after the others had gone to bed, roaming the castle, doing their best to avoid an assortment of experienced teachers and dark creatures that lay in wait for them in the shadowy corners of the darkened castle. These sessions proved invaluable in putting the skills they learned from the dueling club into practice, but kept Madame Pomfrey busy patching up injuries and Roxanne busy replenishing the supply of medical remedies and potions.  
  
The name of Sirius Black still had not been cleared by the Ministry of Magic, despite the mounting evidence that he was indeed innocent of the crimes that had sent him to Azkaban prison almost 15 years before. He lurked around the castle, growing impatient with the lack of freedom he had, padding about as a large black dog, wanting to sit at the head table at meals instead of hiding in the kitchen or Hagrid's cabin. He wanted more than anything to share Harry's time at Hogwarts with him and his friends. But until Cornelius Fudge cleared Sirius' name once and for all, it was a risk Dumbledore could not allow him to take. He could not afford to lose one of his most formidable wizards to Azkaban or the Dementor's Kiss.  
  
**********  
  
Mid January, the soaring turrets of Hogwarts were bathed in the light of the full moon. Remus locked himself away for the two or three days it would take for him to transform and recover. Roxanne worried about him. He always seemed so much more gaunt for a week or more afterward. She searched volume after volume, using her privilege of access into the restricted section of the library in hopes of finding something that could help him recover more quickly. She brewed several promising potions and locked them away in a cupboard in her room, waiting for the day when Remus would re-emerge.  
  
Returning several large volumes to Madame Pince, she tripped in the library, spilling the books, and the contents of her schoolbag onto the floor. She picked up the books and hauled them to the library desk. Madame Pince looked at her disapprovingly, but took the books and reshelved them. Roxanne turned to clean up her things, and spotted a small, smooth black box. Her chess box. She'd forgotten it was there, buried in the bottom of her bag. She picked it up and looked at it, contemplating what she should do with it. She hated the very sight of it. She wanted it to disappear. She could transfigure it into something else, but its evil could never be disguised or hidden by changing its shape. She thought about casting it into the lake, but the idea struck that the pieces might come crawling out of the mud of the lake bottom. They would have to be disposed of in some other way, or destroyed.  
  
The idea came to her as she stirred a thick greenish-blue headache remedy she was making for Madame Pomfrey. The thought of her grandfather's malice had nagged at her since that day with Remus in Knockturn Alley. She refused to believe that a grandfather could hate his granddaughter enough to want her dead-to attempt to do the deed himself. She needed to see him, speak to him, know for certain how he felt about her. She would take the chess set to him. Give him, and her grandmother, the opportunity to get to know her. She needed to go into Diagon Alley anyway. She knew he lived in London. She could slip through the Leaky Cauldron and find his house. She'd do it while Remus was locked away-he'd most certainly try to stop her.  
  
**********  
  
The day was a typical one for London in mid-winter-a cold drizzle splattered the streets from slate gray skies. As night approached the rain stopped and fog settled in, rolling over the city in great heaps like tumbleweed in the ravines back home. Roxanne pulled her collar high and gathered her cloak around her. The chill seemed to seep in easily through the heavy wool, penetrating her skin, raising tiny bumps all over her body. Was it the cold? Or the fear?  
  
She walked along a row of upscale white stone houses, packed neatly together and fenced in by tall black iron bars. An odd sort of neighborhood, she thought, for a wizard's house. She half-expected them all to live somewhere separated from the muggles-like the Burrow, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade.  
  
She wondered if the whole row of houses belonged to wizards, but the curious stares at her odd clothing from the passing muggles told her otherwise. Spotting the house, she stopped and looked at it from across the avenue. Its windows were heavily curtained, allowing only tiny slivers of orange light to escape into the night, announcing that someone was indeed home. She'd hoped, just a little, that no one would be.  
  
Clutching the chess set, wrapped in brown paper, tightly under her arm and taking a deep breath, she strode to the gate and rang the bell.  
  
"Yes?" came a low, drawling voice from a speaker on the stone gate post.  
  
"I-I'm looking for Arriman Stewart. I want to speak with him," she said shivering slightly.  
  
"May I ask who is calling?" the voice said lazily.  
  
"Tell him it's Roxanne."  
  
"Just a moment." There was a long pause. Roxanne looked at the house. A curtain parted slightly. She could see a silhouette of someone looking at her. She shivered again. The curtain was thrust angrily closed, swaying back and forth for a few moments, the light from the room winking at her as the curtain swung from side to side.  
  
"Mr. Stewart is very busy. He wants to know what you want," the voice drawled.  
  
"I have something I need to return to him." Another long pause.  
  
"Leave it by the gate, please."  
  
"No," she answered firmly. "I'll only give it to him in person." Silence again. Then the heavy black door opened, the light spilling onto the walk. A short man dressed in a black suit came out to the gate, opened it for her and escorted her inside.  
  
"May I take your cloak?" he asked coolly.  
  
"No. I won't be staying long."  
  
"Very good," he said, and disappeared through a side door.  
  
The house extended farther up and out than the outside led one to conceive- obviously a trick of magic. The expansive hall was richly paneled in dark wood. A high staircase, carpeted in green and silver, rose to an upper floor landing where dozens of portraits hung. The faces all looked familiar. She noted some of her own features in the faces there. They all looked at her disdainfully, some had turned their backs. One stared coldly at her with glinting dark eyes.  
  
A woman appeared, gliding down the staircase, gripping the banister with white knuckles. Her face was pinched and threatening. Her silver hair hung smoothly down to the center of her back, her long green dress trailed behind her on the steps, hissing faintly as it slid over the floor.  
  
She stopped near the bottom step.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" she said coldly.  
  
Roxanne shook her head.  
  
"Your father was my son."  
  
Roxanne paled a little under her grandmother's icy stare, but said nothing.  
  
"It would have been better if you had never come here. You should have stayed in America-among your own kind," she hissed.  
  
"What do you mean my 'own kind?'" Roxanne asked, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"Among the muggles." She said the word as if it were poison, to be spit onto the dirt.  
  
"I'm not a muggle."  
  
The woman stared at her for a moment, then stepped to the floor and glided over , her eyes unblinking, fixed on Roxanne's. "Perhaps not. Neither are you a member of this family. Arriman and I disowned your father many years ago-and you with him. You have no claim here." Her voice was cold and firm, her eyes fierce, her stance threatening.  
  
"I don't want anything from you," Roxanne responded quietly, her voice low and cool.  
  
"Then why have you come," her grandmother hissed.  
  
Roxanne pulled the package from beneath her arm. "I came to return this to my grand-to Mr. Stewart."  
  
"Give it to me," said the woman, stepping forward and reaching out her hand.  
  
Roxanne withdrew it quickly beneath her cloak. "Only to him," she said steadily, her heart pounding, her fingers searching for the handle of her wand. The sneakoscope began to spin and bob under her shirt.  
  
Mrs. Stewart glared at her, but withdrew a step or two. The sneakoscope continued spinning. 'What would Professor Snape say if he saw me now?' Roxanne thought.  
  
The woman retreated to the side door through which the short man (Roxanne assumed he was a butler) had disappeared and knocked lightly before opening it and stepping inside. There were a few terse, inaudible words exchanged between she and whoever was inside. Then she reappeared and beckoned Roxanne to enter.  
  
The room was richly furnished in heavily cushioned green, silver and black chairs. A large fire burned in the black stone fireplace, but Roxanne could not feel its warmth. It seemed silver snakes with emerald eyes stared at her from every corner. They were inlaid into the tabletop, carved into the feet of the chairs, slithering down the stems of tall silver candlesticks that stood on the mantle. She felt her knees buckle slightly, and her scar burn. Uncertainty swept over her again and again in cold sweats, as if the chill of the night and the rain were working its way into her heart.  
  
The man in black stood silently beside a large chair in which sat Arriman Stewart.  
  
"Your persistence has paid off," he growled angrily. "What do you want."  
  
Roxanne reached into her cloak. The butler stiffened slightly, his fingers moving slowly toward his inside pocket. Eyeing him carefully, Roxanne pulled the package from under her arm and held it out to her grandfather. "I thought you should have this back."  
  
The butler took the package from her, inspected it quickly, and handed it to Arriman. He untied the string and tore open the brown paper. He knew the black box well. No doubt he'd had it custom made for his son-a gift for his coming years as a student at Hogwarts. He gasped slightly and stroked the silver snakes. He opened it and touched each piece tenderly, counting them.  
  
"It belongs to a Slytherin. It's not worthy of me," Roxanne said grimly, echoing the words she'd heard in the Forbidden Forest before watching a malevolent, masked wizard, whom she believed to be the man sitting before her now, snap her wand in half; before he kicked her viciously and dragged her to what would become the very depths of hell for her.  
  
Stewart stood suddenly, the chessmen spilling from his lap and scattering onto the floor. He came at her, drawing his wand, stalking toward her as she backed up, stumbling, slamming against the closed door, fumbling for the knob.  
  
Arriman's left arm came up, holding her across the throat, pinning her there. "What's to keep me from killing you right now?" he growled, his teeth bared.  
  
"Dumbledore-knows-I'm-here," she gasped, thinking fast and lying smoothly. Stewart backed off, releasing her, but still holding his wand at the ready, swearing violently at her. "If I'm not back in one hour, he'll be knocking down your door."  
  
"Anton!" he bellowed. "Get this filth out of my house!"  
  
The butler came forward and took Roxanne roughly by the elbow, hustled her through the hall, out the front door and down the path. He shoved her out the gate slamming it with a loud clang behind her as she fell heavily to the sidewalk. The rain was falling again, pouring down on her in sheets of cold. She scrambled to her feet and shook the gate viciously. "I KNOW YOU WERE THERE, ARRIMAN!" she screamed at the black windows. "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"  
  
But the curtains remained still. A shrill whistle blew from down the street. Roxanne saw a muggle policeman running toward her. Rain dripping from her hair washed the tears from her eyes as she ran into the night. 


	17. The Joining of the Wands

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Joining of the Wands  
  
The little spare time available at Hogwarts became filled with the welcome diversion of wedding plans. Everyone, including many students, turned their attention towards it, offering ideas, taking full advantage of the romantic atmosphere, whispering and giggling behind Remus and Roxanne's backs. They'd finally decided on Easter weekend-a small gathering of close friends and family in Professor Dumbledore's study. A letter arrived from Remus' father congratulating them and stating that he'd be there with bells on. But several trips to London to collect her muggle mail yielded no reply from Roxanne's brother Allan. She hadn't really expected one, but hoped he'd have the decency to at least share the news with his wife. Angela had always been nice to Roxanne, despite (or perhaps because of) her husband's malice toward her.  
  
Professor Dumbledore agreed to perform the ceremony; Sirius gladly accepted when Remus asked him to be best man; Roxanne asked Hagrid to give her away- he burst into sobs, blubbering about how honored he'd be and how proud he was of her.  
  
The question of a maid of honor proved difficult. Roxanne had no long-time friends. Of those in the wizard world, she'd known Molly Weasley the longest. She'd almost decided to break completely with tradition and ask Ron or Harry. The group of them-Remus, Sirius, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Roxanne-spent a blustery March day gathered around Hagrid's table for a round of Butterbeer that Ron had brought back from Hogsmeade the day before, where Roxanne told them. Remus laughed. Ron turned bright red. Sirius looked Harry up and down-"He'd look ravishing in a frilly pink frock." Harry kicked him hard under the table.  
  
"I think you should ask Professor McGonagall," suggested Hermione firmly. She was well aware of the daunting task the Professor had undertaken in finally helping Roxanne to succeed in transfiguration.  
  
Ron gaped at Hermione as if she'd just suggested a stroll through a lake of fire. "Professor McGonagall? Are you mad?"  
  
"She's on my short list," replied Roxanne. "So's your mother, Ron."  
  
"My mum? I don't know if she would," he said. "She's upset Bill didn't ask you first."  
  
"To marry him?" she laughed. Ron nodded.  
  
"Was he going to?" Remus asked, a bit defensively.  
  
"No. That doesn't matter to mum. She just thinks he should've, whether he wanted to or not."  
  
Remus frowned.  
  
"Nothing against you, Professor," Ron hurried on. "She just thinks Bill might settle down a bit if he found the right girl-I think she was hoping Roxanne would be the one."  
  
"But what about his girlfriend?" asked Roxanne.  
  
Ron looked at her puzzled. "Bill doesn't have a girlfriend."  
  
"He told me he did. On Halloween night. He told me all about her. They met in Morocco. You really didn't know?" Roxanne was beginning to feel she'd let a secret slip that she shouldn't have. But Bill had said nothing about keeping it under her hat.  
  
Ron shook his head, his eyes wide. "I don't think Mum and Dad know either," he said, whistling quietly. "This is great!" he shouted.  
  
"What's great?" asked Harry smiling.  
  
"I've got blackmail material!" beamed Ron. "I'll bet Bill'd do anything to keep Mum from finding out."  
  
**********  
  
In the end, Roxanne asked Professor McGonagall, who accepted graciously with a warm smile and misty eyes. The next day, in her duties as Roxanne's new assistant, Professor McGonagall arranged for Madame Malkin to visit the castle and fit Roxanne for her dress. Madame Malkin fussed with measurements while conjuring miniaturized models of dozens of dresses, each frillier than the last, all of which Roxanne refused.  
  
"Something simple, yet elegant. Please," she begged.  
  
Finally Madame Malkin thrust a piece of parchment and a quill at her. "Draw it, then," she said testily.  
  
"But I can't dr-"  
  
"Just do your best."  
  
Roxanne clumsily drew something that looked a bit like a human being and began clothing it in a not very close facsimile of what she imagined the dress should resemble, with Professor McGonagall and Madame Malkin hovering over her shoulder.  
  
Before the drawing was quite finished, Madame Malkin snatched up the paper and threw it into the air, waving her wand deftly at it. She produced a perfect miniature model of the dress, very much as Roxanne had pictured it- long, sleek and silky; a pearly cream dress, high collared, close fitting; a long lavender overcoat fastened with a row of ornate silver buckles; high heeled lace-up boots in the same shade as the dress.  
  
Roxanne gasped. "That's it! Just like that-except the boots. No heels. I can't stand them."  
  
A flick of Madame Malkin's wand and the heels shrank to a more manageable height.  
  
"And the coat," said Roxanne. "I want something rosier-not too dark, not too pink. And the sleeves-they need to cover my wrists."  
  
Another flick of the wand and there it was. Perfect.  
  
**********  
  
The morning of the wedding dawned bright and still. The lawns to the south of the castle were beginning to green up in the warmth of the spring sunshine, while to the north deep snow still clung to the ground, sheltered in the cold blue shadows of the high walls. Roxanne landed lightly on the battlement of the north tower, scanning the grounds once more after a long soaring flight, making ever widening circles over Hogwarts and the surrounding countryside.  
  
The Headmaster had asked her to take these daily flights and report anything unusual to him. She thought it especially appropriate to not skip this morning. Particularly since her growing excitement was echoed by a growing sense of dread. Dumbledore, though he didn't say it, seemed to feel the same way and did not object when Roxanne told him she planned to conduct her patrol as usual this morning.  
  
She'd seen nothing out of the ordinary, but felt a twinge of unease at the thought that she and Remus would be leaving the castle in a few hours-even if only for one night. The news yesterday that opposition to Arthur Weasley, and the others at the Ministry of Magic who supported Dumbledore, was becoming more aggressive, that Fudge had called Arthur on the carpet for what he termed 'acts of insubordination,' only heightened Dumbledore's concerns. He'd called an emergency meeting, explaining that the Ministry was dangerously close to allowing the expulsion of those who vociferously opposed the Ministry's do-nothing stance. And if that occurred, Dumbledore would finally consider the Ministry allied with Voldemort.  
  
The Headmaster seemed very tired afterward. But strolled the corridors of the castle until late into the night, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.  
  
Roxanne lifted lightly from the battlement and swooped down the castle wall, angling along it until she reached Dumbledore's window. It was open. He was waiting for her. She transformed smoothly just before landing and stepped lightly, as if bursting out of a box, onto the floor.  
  
"Good morning, Roxanne," Dumbledore said. "Nothing to report, I hope."  
  
"Nothing, Headmaster. Nothing I could see anyway."  
  
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in a high arch and he looked at her piercingly.  
  
"Just a feeling. Maybe it's nerves."  
  
"Normally, I would say that is the case," Dumbledore said heavily, pacing the floor, "but a sense of dread weighs heavily upon me as well." He stood erect and smiled at her warmly. "Let's not allow this cloud to darken this day," he said. "I have something for you. He removed a sealed letter from his robes and handed it to her. "It arrived this morning-from Mr. Orcrist."  
  
Roxanne took the letter, puzzled, and opened it slowly. The handwriting was not that of Mr. Orcrist, however. It was her father's.  
  
(Dear Roxanne,  
  
The fact that you are reading this letter means only one thing. You are about to marry a wizard. I hoped you would. I leave my blessing with you, as well as your wedding present. Don't let your brother know about this. He will be disappointed to learn that his share of the inheritance was the smaller. In Gringott's bank, vault number 1132, you will find a small fortune in wizard gold, as well as the deed to a large parcel of land located not far from Hogwarts. Surprised? Good. As for advice-fathers are supposed to give their children advice on their wedding day-remember to take life's sudden hardships by the horns and let them make you stronger. I lacked the courage to do this. You do not.  
  
Love Lorenzo)  
  
"Remus' father is here," Dumbledore said when she finished. "I believe they are waiting breakfast for us. Shall we?" He held his elbow out to her, which she took, squeezing the old wizard's arm affectionately as he led her out of his office.  
  
**********  
  
Remus stood at the bottom of the grand staircase talking with Sirius Black and a man with Remus' gray eyes. He was beaming at his son, and laughing at tales of old times with the younger men. When he spotted Roxanne on Professor Dumbledore's arm, hesitating high above him, he begged his father's leave and sprinted up the steps three at a time until he reached her.  
  
"Excuse me, Professor," he said with a nod, "I believe you have something of mine there." And he took Roxanne's hand in his and turned to take her down to meet his father.  
  
But Dumbledore grasped the hand still resting in the crook of his arm. "She is not yours yet. And I am not quite ready to let her go, Remus. You shall have to share-for a little while longer, anyway," he said with a wry smile. Remus was taken aback, but deferred to the Headmaster and stood to Roxanne's other side, swinging her hand onto his arm for the walk down to the entrance hall. With all this attention, Roxanne became suddenly aware of what she must look like. She hadn't changed since soaring into Dumbledore's office, and wore a pair of faded jeans and a baggy sweater. She expected her hair must be sticking up everywhere, but both hands were occupied now and she had no chance to reach up and smooth it before she was standing face to face with the senior Lupin. Dumbledore kissed her hand, then took Sirius by the shoulder and the two walked into the Great Hall.  
  
"Roxanne," said Remus "I'd like you to meet my father, William Lupin."  
  
Roxanne held out her hand, which William ignored, instead grasping her in a tight embrace. "Welcome to the family," he said holding her at arms length and smiling broadly. "Now," he continued, ignoring Remus and leading her by the hand toward the breakfast table, "tell me all about yourself-Remus never was very good at writing detailed letters." Son followed father, shaking his head and smiling.  
  
The Great Hall erupted in cheers when they entered. William straightened, convinced he had the prettiest girl in the place on his arm. Remus laughed and waved. Roxanne's face turned red and warm, but she smiled and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who sat at the Head Table alongside Professor McGonagall. Hagrid beamed, his eyes glistening with joyful tears. Professor Dumbledore waited for them to take their seats at his left side before standing and signaling for quiet.  
  
"It is a wonderful thing to have reason to celebrate, at any time, but now more than ever. In a little less than two hours time Gryffindor will join with Gryffindor in marriage," he said pointing to Remus and Roxanne. "I for one, would very much like to have a large breakfast before then. So we had better get to it." He clapped his hands once and a large, sumptuous feast appeared on the tables.  
  
Remus and Roxanne ate little. William questioned Roxanne ceaselessly, trying to get to know his soon-to-be daughter in a few short minutes. She did her best to answer his questions honestly without disappointing him too much. She wondered if he'd be quite as excited for them if he knew everything about her. But he seemed not to be perturbed by the snippets of the whole truth that Roxanne doled carefully out.  
  
**********  
  
After breakfast, several women descended on Roxanne and escorted her from the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall in the lead, with Madame Pomfrey, Professor Sprout, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley bunched closely behind. Time was running perilously short now. If Roxanne were going to back out of this, it would have to be now. But she had no uncertainties about Remus. She loved him, more than she ever could have imagined loving anyone. But she was young still, and things had happened so fast, and there was still so much she needed to accomplish to become his equal, and the times were not serene as she so desperately wished they were. She wanted to fade away with Remus, escape into a place where it could be just the two of them forever. They had just one day, for now anyway. One day, just he and she, to leave their cares behind at Hogwarts.  
  
The ladies hurried to her room where the dress hung in a corner beside a tall mirror. They bustled around her, helping her dress, tucking her wand into a pocket inside the coat, combing and coifing her hair, accentuating her fine features with modest dabs of makeup. Professor Sprout brought a box full of glistening red and gold blossoms, which she placed expertly into Roxanne's hair. Hermione just sat and watched, fascinated. Finally finished, they stepped back, Molly Weasley dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Professor McGonagall beaming, and let Roxanne see herself in the mirror. She gasped silently, and gulped loudly.  
  
"Roxanne, you look perfectly wonderful," said Professor McGonagall. "Now wait here until Hagrid comes for you-it shouldn't be long. Ladies? Shall we?" And the five of them bustled out the door, tittering and giggling amongst themselves like schoolgirls.  
  
For the first time in a long time, Roxanne thought of her mother, missed her, wished she could see her now, hoped that somehow she really was watching her, hoped she'd be proud of her. For just a moment she felt out of place in the world, as if she were standing on the edge of it watching through the walls of a bubble. But the thought of Remus, waiting for her, brought her willingly back. She knew he'd be as nervous as she, pacing under the watchful eye of Sirius. She knew Sirius would be teasing him relentlessly, acting very much like the brothers they had grown to be over the years.  
  
A soft knock pulled her out of her thoughts, and she opened it to see Hagrid, dressed in a neat brown suit, a large red rose pinned clumsily to the lapel. He tried to speak, but couldn't, choking up at the sight of her. Giving up, he simply held out his arm for her, and smiling proudly, escorted her to Dumbledore's study. All the people Roxanne loved most were standing around the room, all watching her, all smiling, all silent. The room had been emptied of furniture and decorated with more red and gold flowers. Hagrid brought her forward until she was standing, facing Remus, in the windowed alcove where she and Dumbledore had talked not long ago- though it seemed ages ago now. The Headmaster was there, standing silhouetted against the windows, in deep red robes, laced with gold paisleys. His silver hair seemed to glow as the sun shone through the windows, lighting him from behind. Sirius and Professor McGonagall took their places behind the couple and Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat.  
  
"Remus Lupin, Roxanne Stewart, see that you enter into this oath with the knowledge that it is to be held with the greatest respect; that you will be binding yourselves to one another for all time, regardless of life or death; that you forsake all darkness for the love of light that will sustain you, together, through any challenge you encounter." Dumbledore fell silent, eyeing each one. They looked deeply into one another's eyes, their thoughts only on each other and their commitment to the words Dumbledore spoke. "Now, take out your wands. Hold them together, tip to handle, with your right hands."  
  
They did as they were instructed, their hands touching each other at the wands' centers. It seemed to Roxanne that the wands grasped her. Although she had no desire to do so, she felt as if she would be unable to release them, as if the oath had already bound them, knowing their hearts, before they had spoken the words.  
  
"Remus and Roxanne, do you swear, before these witnesses and before the power that rules the universe, to bind yourselves, one to another, forsaking all others, forever faithful to this oath and the powers of light which you possess?"  
  
They looked at each other, smiling slightly. "We so swear," they said together.  
  
Suddenly the wands burst with golden light streaming out from between their fingers, filling the room with warmth. Roxanne felt a blissful charge fill her body and mind. She closed her eyes and reached for Remus with her other hand. She found his shoulder, could feel it drawing nearer to her. She felt his arm around her, felt him kissing her. Then with a roar, as of a lion, the feeling was gone, and she became aware of the cheers of the others in the room. She looked down at their hands, still grasping the wands. Glittering gold bands had appeared on their ring fingers, etched with tiny runes.  
  
"It's the words of the oath," whispered Remus. "Mine has it as well."  
  
Dumbledore took their hands and separated them, each taking his and her own wands. "Your guests are waiting to congratulate you," he said, pointing to the group gathered behind them. Roxanne turned back to the Headmaster and looked at him questioningly. It had been nothing like she'd anticipated.  
  
"I told you," he said quietly, "you may find more power than you expected in the oath. Apparently your faithfulness to Remus and his love for you have given you the power he wanted for you."  
  
She threw his arms around the old wizard's neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you. For everything," she whispered.  
  
Remus was shaking Sirius' hand when she turned back to him. Professor McGonagall hugged her lightly, beaming warmly, but too near tears to utter a word. Sirius took her in his arms next. "I'm very happy for you," he said sincerely. "And for him, though he doesn't really deserve you." He jerked his head toward Remus, who pulled Sirius roughly out of the way.  
  
"Get your hands off my wife, sir," he said gallantly, taking Roxanne by the waist and pulling her close. They waited long enough to collect hugs and kisses from everyone before sprinting for the door and racing through the castle. Remus collected their bags from Roxanne's room and they were off, to more cheers from the students gathered in the entrance hall and along the grand staircase, chasing them out onto the grounds and along the road to Hogsmeade.  
  
They stopped, catching their breaths and laughing just outside the Hogwarts gate. "Now," Remus said, taking his wand from his coat, "we can give this power a try. Take out your wand."  
  
She looked at him, puzzled, but did as he said.  
  
"Hold them together, like we did for the oath. There, that's right. Now we can apparate together."  
  
"But, Remus, I don't know how to-"  
  
"That doesn't matter. I do," he said. "It's as if we are one body now. When I apparate, you come along. Ready?"  
  
She nodded eagerly. 


	18. Lucius Malfoy's Last Curse

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Lucius Malfoy's Last Curse  
  
The house stood on a high bluff overlooking the ocean, the green hills of Ireland climbing into the distance behind it. There was not another house, another person for many miles around. The sun rose over the hills, casting a golden light over the grass and stone and heather. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney. Inside, the sun began streaming in through the lace curtains on the windows and Roxanne groaned and stretched luxuriantly beneath warm sheets, smiling to herself as she remembered the moment she and Remus had finally become one-now less than a day before-their minds, hearts and wands joined forever. One day. Just one day. Lying here in the warmth of their honeymoon bed, she felt it had been much longer, as if eternity stretched out ahead of them, close enough to touch. But when she reached for Remus, he was gone. She sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "Remus?"  
  
She became aware of voices, one of them her husband's, the other Sirius.' Remus was stooped near the fireplace, sitting on his heels, talking to the head of Sirius Black that floated in green flame inside the fireplace.  
  
"Remus? What's going on?" she said with a trace of concern.  
  
Sirius' head vanished and Remus stood, hurriedly buttoning his shirt.  
  
"Sirius and Harry are at the Weasleys.' They're being attacked," he said quickly. "I'm going. Stay here-  
  
"I'm going with you."  
  
"No. Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can." He was trying to sound firm, but worry streamed out instead. His voice quavered just a little.  
  
"You're not leaving me here. I'm coming." She was scrambling out of bed and reaching for her clothes, hastily pulling on her jeans, then her sneakers.  
  
"Roxanne, please," he pleaded. "It'll be dangerous."  
  
"Thanks for the warning, Mr. Lupin. I think I can handle it-better than I can handle sitting here waiting to find out if you've gotten yourself killed."  
  
He stopped for a moment, sighing deeply, then nodded resignedly. "Let's go then."  
  
**********  
  
Remus and Roxanne apparated behind a high hedgerow that ran along the west side of the Burrow. Shouted curses and commands filled the air. Roxanne's sneakoscope spun and bobbed madly on its chain. They could faintly hear Mrs. Weasley from inside the house shrieking instructions to someone.  
  
They scrambled through a hole in the hedge, keeping low, hidden by the garage. Remus peaked carefully around the corner and found the west side of the house unprotected, two masked, cloaked Death Eaters stealing toward an open window.  
  
"You take the one on the right," Remus whispered. Roxanne nodded, gripping her wand, her hand shaking slightly. Both flew into the open, shouting curses one after another, disabling and disarming the Death Eaters who had been taken completely by surprise. Remus ran forward, snatching their wands from the ground and snapping them in half, casting the pieces into the hedge. A figure came racing around the house, skidding to a halt at the sight of Remus' drawn wand. It was Bill Weasley.  
  
"Remus! Am I glad to see you!" he said, his face washing with relief. "I thought we'd lost the house there for a minute. We're trying to keep them away long enough for mum to get all the kids out of here."  
  
"How many Death Eaters?" asked Remus.  
  
"I'm not sure. They're scattered all over," he explained quickly. "Keep hitting the house in waves-20 maybe. Fewer now," he said nodding towards the two prostrate figures on the ground. "Sirius is somewhere on the other side of the house. Harry's with him. They were outside when the attack came-we haven't been able to get Harry to the house. Our only chance to get him out of here may be a portkey. There's one inside. But getting it out and to Harry is going to be-"  
  
A huge explosion ripped deafeningly through the air, knocking the three of them down and spraying shattered glass out from the windows of the house. Angry orange flames shot out of the upper floor windows and a plume of thick black smoke billowed into the sky.  
  
"Mum!" Bill yelled, scrambling to his feet and running around to the kitchen door, slivers of glass falling from his robes.  
  
George came pelting out, his arms over his head. Molly came close behind, clutching her side, her face blotched with angry red burns. Bill, Remus and Roxanne grabbed them, wands ready for any sign of Death Eaters, and steered them to safety, away from the burning house.  
  
"Mum," said Bill, wide-eyed. "Is there anyone else-"  
  
"No," Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Everyone else is through. I hope they made it safely. It was close for Fred."  
  
"The portkey-" began Bill.  
  
"It's right here," Molly said, pulling a crumpled aluminum soda can from her pocket. "Where's Harry.  
  
"I'm not sure," Bill said scanning the yard. There was not a Death Eater in sight. "I don't like it. Where'd they all go?"  
  
"After Harry, no doubt," said Remus. "Molly, get out of here. We'll take George with us".  
  
She began to object, but pain shot through her chest and side, and she nodded. "George, you stay close to Bill and do exactly as he says. Do you hear me?" she commanded.  
  
"I promise, Mum," he answered. By the look of panic on George's face, Roxanne knew he'd do his best to keep his word. He seemed out of place and vulnerable without Fred at his side.  
  
Molly disapparated and the four of them sprinted for the back of the house, slogging through the mud of the newly turned garden and through a gate in the hedge beyond. They could see no one about. Behind them the house burned ferociously, the fire descending into the lower floors, rapidly consuming the Burrow.  
  
Above the crackling flames, they heard a series of loud cracks and shouting in the direction of a long line of trees a couple of hundred yards away over the fields.  
  
"Keep your head down George," Bill warned. "And keep your wand in your hand."  
  
George nodded numbly and they ran hard for the trees, following Remus. Roxanne signaled to him with a swooping hand gesture. He nodded and she fell back, transformed into a falcon to the gaping stares of Bill and George, and swept over their heads, then streaked off for the trees.  
  
She could see white-masked shadows moving among the trees below. She circled, counting. Nine left. Ahead she made out Sirius, Harry, Charlie and Arthur racing northward along a streambed. The Death Eaters followed too closely to give them a moment's rest. She would be unable to help or signal to them. Their only hope lay still a long distance away in Remus and Bill who were coming swiftly from behind-but not swiftly enough.  
  
She sped back toward Remus. There was no time to transform-they could not afford to stop. Instead she swooped over his head, screeching loudly and flying in a straight line towards Sirius. Remus got the message and changed course, charging on as fast as he could go, Bill and George struggling to keep up.  
  
Roxanne flew back over the trees and easily spotted Sirius again. He and Harry were alone now. Searching backward along the water, she located Charlie and Arthur, wands drawn, doing their best to hold off the Death Eaters, giving Harry and Sirius some breathing room. But then Charlie was down, lying still on the bank, his feet in the water. Arthur flung curses desperately shielded by a large tree. Two Death Eaters fell, the others closed in on Arthur. At the last possible moment he disapparated, leaving the Death Eaters milling in confusion-but for only a moment-before continuing their pursuit of Harry Potter.  
  
Now was her chance. She'd have a few seconds to steer Sirius toward Remus. She swooped into the trees just ahead of Sirius and transformed atop a large boulder.  
  
"Sirius!" she called, afraid that if he came on her by surprise he'd attack before realizing who it was. He spotted her through the trees and raced to her, breathing hard. Harry was pale and panting hard. He was soaking wet from head to toe, shivering, splattered with mud, his face badly scratched, his glasses gone.  
  
"Remus and Bill are coming from the southeast," she explained quickly, pointing through the trees. "You've got to turn towards them. Bill has the portkey."  
  
Sirius nodded, patted Harry on the back and raced off again. The three of them turned from the water and ran east through the trees. They reached the edge of the woods just as Remus and Bill came pounding over the crest of a hill that dropped down towards the stream. Sirius waved. Remus saw him and raced to them.  
  
"There are only seven Death Eaters left," Roxanne said, "but they're not far behind."  
  
"Bill-the portkey!" panted Remus. "Roxanne, you go with Harry and George. We'll be right behind you-as soon as we find Arthur and Charlie."  
  
"Arthur disapparated and Charlie-" She stopped, looking at Bill and George. "He was down. I don't know if-"  
  
"We'll go back," said Sirius firmly. "You three get out of here."  
  
George and Harry numbly grasped the can. Roxanne turned to Remus.  
  
"You promise? You'll be right behind me?" she asked, searching his eyes.  
  
"I promise. Now, go!" he replied urgently. She grasped the can as well and Bill touched it with his wand muttering 'Hogsmeade.' Nothing happened. He looked at Remus and Sirius, then tried again. Still nothing.  
  
"What's the matter?" hissed Sirius.  
  
"I-I don't know." Bill's eyes were wide, he was shaking his head slowly. "It must have been the explosion."  
  
"Bill, what's the lay of the land around here? Where can we go?" Remus asked. The Burrow was no longer an option. Thick smoke still billowed angrily into the sky from over the hill, now nearly a mile away over open fields.  
  
"There's a village, a couple of miles upstream. A witch lives in a house just this side of town. We can run under cover of the trees most of the way," Bill explained hurriedly.  
  
Harry shook his head, still panting hard. "A couple of miles?" He was cold and exhausted and shivered violently. Remus looked at him with concern.  
  
"The more time we can give you the better," he said. "Roxanne and I will stay behind and hold them off."  
  
"But, Remus, how-" began Sirius.  
  
"We'll apparate out together when we've done all we can. We'll meet you back at Hogwarts."  
  
Sirius nodded. Roxanne took off her robes and placed them over Harry's shoulders. "It's not much, but it's dry," she said pulling them tightly around him and fastening them at his throat. Harry smiled gratefully.  
  
The voices of Death Eaters drifted toward them out of the trees. Sirius, Bill, Harry, and George started off, sprinting along the line of trees.  
  
Remus took Roxanne's hand. "Scared?"  
  
She nodded, but gritted her teeth determinedly and drew her wand from her jeans pocket. "Me too," he whispered. They headed straight back through the trees, following the echoing voices, moving to intercept the Death Eaters.  
  
Remus spotted them first and bellowed a disarming charm at the one nearest to him. The others turned toward his voice and came charging at him. Remus leapt sideways stumbling into a heavy clump of brush as Roxanne bellowed another curse and ran southward, trying to draw them away from their pursuit of Harry. But the leader stopped them from following.  
  
"Leave them to me! Go after the boy!" he snarled. It was Lucius Malfoy. Roxanne went cold at the sound of his voice.  
  
Remus' robes had become tangled in the clump of briers and he was struggling to free himself, to regain his feet. He pulled his body right out of his robes and spun just in time to take the full force of Malfoy's curse in the chest. Roxanne was running toward them. She heard the shouted curse, saw Remus go down, watched as Malfoy's cold sneer turned to her as he slowly raised his wand.  
  
A blast of green light came from the trees over Malfoy's shoulders, striking him squarely in the back. His wand flew from his hand and he fell stiffly forward, a look of mild surprise on his face.  
  
Roxanne skidded to a halt as a masked Death Eater stepped from the trees and bent over Malfoy, turning him onto his back. He then moved to Remus, pulling back his hood and removing his mask. It was Severus Snape. Roxanne rushed forward and fell beside Remus. His eyes were wide and panicked. He clutched at his throat, his mouth gaping, working feverishly to take in some air. He grasped Roxanne's shoulders, clinging desperately to her. She flung her arms around him and pulled him up cradling him in her lap. Snape crouched next to them, his head hanging, his hand rubbing at his forehead.  
  
"Do something!" Roxanne sobbed at him. "He's dying!"  
  
"There is nothing I can do," Snape whispered slowly.  
  
"The hospital wing-" she began.  
  
"There is no time!" he hissed. "He's nearly gone now."  
  
Snape spoke the truth.  
  
"His wand!" she said desperately. "Where is his wand!" She searched the ground, but could not see the wand. Snape stood and hurriedly searched among the brush. Remus gripped Roxanne's hand tightly, his knuckles white, his hands cold and shaking, as if holding her with all his strength could save his life. But his struggles were weakening. His lips and fingernails were deep blue now, his eye were rolling into the back of his head.  
  
"Remus!" she screamed. "Don't leave me! Please, don't go!" But after a final shudder, his body lay still, his grip on her hand suddenly lax.  
  
Roxanne clutched his body, rocking back and forth on her knees, gasping and sobbing. Snape stood, his head bowed, letting her grieve. But time was very short. Sirius and Harry were still in desperate danger and Severus intended to do what he could for them, but he refused to leave her alone here, clinging to her dead husband.  
  
"Roxanne," he said firmly after her sobs quieted a little, "we must leave. Mr. Potter still needs our help."  
  
"No," she said flatly. "I won't leave Remus."  
  
Snape bent and grasped her arm tightly. "We're going now!" he growled, pulling her to her feet, letting Remus' body slide from her lap and onto the ground. She fought to free herself, cursing him, trying to hit him, anything to get back to Remus. He held her by both elbows now and shook her hard. "He's not there! He's gone! Listen to what I say. Staying here crying over his remains will do nothing to bring him back or-or to avenge his death," Snape hissed. "You must do what he would want you to do- you must go on, and you must do it now!"  
  
Roxanne's legs buckled beneath her and she sank to her knees, Snape still holding her arms. She took a deep breath and nodded slowly.  
  
Snape helped her up, picked her wand from the ground and gave it to her. She held it without feeling it, took a last long look at Remus' face then turned and followed Snape through the trees.  
  
"Have you learned to apparate yet?" Snape asked quickly as they ran together.  
  
"No, but-but I can fly," she stammered.  
  
Snape's step faltered, his mouth open, as Roxanne transformed and climbed through the trees, disappearing in the tangle of branches overhead. Clearing the trees she sped northward, following the stream. She spotted the Death Eaters nearly a mile ahead of Snape and not a hundred yards behind Sirius, Bill, Harry, and George. She could see the village and the house on its edge-the one standing off from the others, surrounded by a high hedge. The witch that lived there should be warned that a half-dozen Death Eaters were heading straight for her. She swooped down and into the house through the open owl window. The elderly witch in the kitchen cried out in surprise and chased Roxanne around the room, swatting at her with a towel before pulling out her wand. Roxanne tried to transform quickly, but was not fast enough. A red blast shot from the witch's wand and Roxanne felt herself hurtling across the room, landing with a thud on the floor, unable to move.  
  
The witch picked her up and smoothed her feathers, carefully checking the fragile wings and legs for breaks.  
  
"You're all right then," she said fetching a leather string from a nearby drawer and tying it around Roxanne's taloned foot before releasing her from the curse.  
  
Roxanne immediately transformed. The string snapped, but not before cutting into her flesh as her leg rapidly grew. The poor witch nearly fell over in her surprise, but quickly had her wand drawn again. "What do you want?" she shrieked.  
  
"Please," Roxanne pleaded, holding out her empty hands. "We need help."  
  
The witch eyed her suspiciously.  
  
"It's Harry Potter. He's on his way here from the Weasley's."  
  
"Harry Potter!" the witch said excitedly. "I'd best put on a pot for tea then."  
  
"There's no time!" blustered Roxanne. "We've got to get Harry and George Weasley out of here-quickly! They're being chased-Death Eaters-six of them, maybe more!"  
  
At these words the witch went very pale.  
  
"Death Eaters?! You've led them here? How dare you!" She raised her wand to attack, but Roxanne was quicker and better prepared this time, pulling her wand from her pocket and bellowing a disarming charm. The witch's wand soared out the window and she stumbled backward, falling to the floor and landing on her plump behind. She scrambled to her feet and fled out the door, grabbing her broom as she went, not caring if her muggle neighbors saw her as she fled the terror descending on her home. Snape apparated into the room just as Bill and George came pounding to the door. Roxanne swung the door wide, letting it bang against the wall and they rushed through.  
  
"Where are Harry and Sirius?" she asked urgently.  
  
"They-they should be-right behind us," Bill gasped, steering George to the fireplace and taking the jar of floo powder from the mantle. George didn't need any urging-he was desperate to get out of this nightmare.  
  
"Hogsmeade!" he shouted as his brothers and sister had done before at the Burrow. And in a swirl of green flame he was gone.  
  
Snape had rushed out the door and was crouched behind the hedgerow, ready to defend Sirius and Harry. Bill and Roxanne passed him, running out into the road looking towards the stream for any sign of them. They came crashing out of the dense brush and pelted toward the house, Roxanne and Bill falling in behind them, glancing over their shoulders for Death Eaters, guarding their flight into the house. They could hear the Death Eater's voices and running footsteps coming fast. They heard Harry shout "Hogsmeade!" and the fizzing pop that told them he was safe now, then rushed in to find Sirius leaning against the stone mantelpiece, panting hard. He straightened when they came in, looked at Roxanne, then around the room.  
  
"Roxanne--?" he began.  
  
She shook her head quickly, her eyes brimming with tears. She couldn't explain-- not yet. Not until they were all safe. She swallowed hard and dashed out the door, transforming and disappearing over the hedge.  
  
Roxanne found Lucius Malfoy easily enough. She landed near his still form, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically. She transformed and looked at him with a hollow rage in her eyes, then searched the ground looking for- There! Just the right size. She stepped over Malfoy, pulled a heavy stone from the stream and carried it back. She knelt at Malfoy's head, cursed him and raised the stone high over her head, bringing it down with all the force she could manage, smashing his skull with a muffled crack. Blood splattered her hands and shirt and jeans. She waited until his breathing stopped and his heart stilled before going back to Remus.  
  
**********  
  
Sirius and Bill apparated into Hogsmeade as the Death Eaters descended on the house. Snape had disappeared moments before. Arthur Weasley was waiting for them and pointed them down the road toward Hogwarts.  
  
"Harry and George are fine," he said, as they walked quickly along. Sirius sighed with relief. "We're still waiting on Roxanne and Remus. Do you know where they are?"  
  
Sirius shook his head, his breathing shallow, his expression pained. "Remus is dead."  
  
"Dad," said Bill, brow furrowed. "Charlie-"  
  
Arthur's shoulders sagged and his back bowed. "Charlie too," he whispered.  
  
"Roxanne flew off. I don't know where she is," said Sirius.  
  
"We'll wait for a bit-she'll turn up," said Arthur.  
  
**********  
  
The walls of the large dining room in the Riddle house were lined with black-cloaked wizards and witches. A large fire roared in the grate, an ominous figure standing silhouetted before it. "You failed me once again!" it spat, its red slitted eyes sparking ferociously. "Arthur Weasley lives, and the boy. What a stroke of luck to find him there. Still you failed to bring him to me! Who is responsible for this?!" Voldemort shrieked.  
  
One wizard stepped forward. "Malfoy," he said.  
  
"Malfoy? Where is Lucius?" The red eyes narrowed.  
  
"I killed him," the wizard said simply.  
  
"Explain, Mr. Snape" hissed Voldemort.  
  
"It was the girl. He allowed her to distract him. He left us, leaderless, to deal with her," Snape said coldly. "So, I killed him."  
  
Voldemort nodded. "And placed yourself in a better position as well, of course," he said shrewdly. "Well done, Severus."  
  
Snape bowed low and stepped back into line.  
  
**********  
  
It was nearly nightfall before Sirius found Roxanne, lying on the ground, her arm over Remus' chest, her hand gripping two wands tightly. Her skin was cold and she did not move when he shook her lightly. She was unconscious and breathing shallowly. Sirius grasped her hand and took a portkey from his pocket. They were transported to Hogsmeade. Sirius carried her silently to the hospital wing where Albus Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall waited and laid her gently onto a bed. "I'll be back. I'm going for Remus."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
**********  
  
Roxanne felt herself jolted out of nothingness, feeling as if she'd only just begun to breathe again after falling into black water. She coughed at the sour smell in her nostrils that seemed to shoot into her brain. Her eyes refused to focus The room spun madly around her. She could just make out a solid black and white form hovering over her and sensed that it was tormenting her with the sour smell.  
  
"Leave me alone," she groaned, swatting her hands at the shape.  
  
"Stop that!" scolded Madame Pomfrey's voice, as if through a tunnel. "I'll not be batted at like a fly."  
  
Roxanne felt a warm hand on her forehead and saw another shape loom over her.  
  
"Roxanne," it said, "it's Professor Dumbledore. Can you hear me?"  
  
She drew a deep rasping breath and coughed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. But when she opened them again she found she could see a little better, though her head pounded. She was propped up in a bed in the hospital wing. She could hear many voices echoing quietly through the large room. Sirius sat in a chair nearby, looking very exhausted. She looked further into the room and spotted Harry, George and Molly Weasley in nearby beds. Harry and George were sleeping comfortably. Mrs. Weasley wept quietly for her lost son.  
  
Roxanne sat up suddenly, feeling for her and Remus' wands in her pockets, but her jeans were gone. She wore soft pajamas instead. She searched frantically among the sheets, but finally spotted them lying on the bedside table. She snatched them up and sighed with relief, clutching them to her chest, and sinking back onto the pillows.  
  
"Roxanne," said the Headmaster again. "What happened to Lucius Malfoy?" he asked. She was a little surprised at the question. Why did he care? Why wasn't he asking what had happened to Remus, to Charlie?  
  
She looked him square in the eyes, her expression suddenly cold. "I killed him," she whispered. "I smashed his head with a rock. He killed Remus." She began to sob, shaking and gasping. "He-He killed-Remus!" she growled through clenched teeth. Sirius was by her side now, his hand taking hers. He knelt by the bed, holding her tightly, his head bowed, crying silently into the sheets. 


	19. Priori Incantatem

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Priori Incantatem  
  
For two days Roxanne stayed locked in her room. The trays that appeared on her table at mealtimes returned to the kitchen untouched. She slept a great deal-or at least tried to sleep-curled up on her bed clutching a pillow to her chest, fighting to rid her mind of the sight of Remus' suffering.  
  
She thought often of Severus Snape and the words he'd spoken: "You must do what he would want you to do-go on-do it now." But she felt as if she lacked the strength. For the first time since raising a bottle of beer to a windy Montana sky nearly a year ago, she truly wished she'd chosen differently. She wanted to go home, to hide away forever, to die sad and lonely and friendless.  
  
One day. Just one day. Now that he was gone and that one day was behind her, Remus gone forever, it no longer seemed like the edge of eternity. It seemed like a flash of light-like a shooting star, come and gone so quickly she couldn't be sure she'd actually seen it. But with shooting stars, one had hope of seeing another. Roxanne had no hope of seeing Remus again.  
  
On the third morning, she woke quietly from a restless sleep and rubbed at her eyes. The draperies were drawn and the sun streamed in, stinging her puffy eyes. She became aware of noises in the room and sat up angrily. Professor Dumbledore, sitting near the foot of the bed looked sternly at her flashing eyes and she cowered slightly at the power she saw there. Professor McGonagall bustled about picking up after a fit of destruction that Roxanne had indulged in, freeing some of the pent up hate and rage. She'd torn the curtains from her bed and flung at least one plate of food at the wall. Clothes, torn books, and magic supplies littered the floor.  
  
Sirius came in carrying a tray, which he set on the table, bringing a steaming cup to Professor Dumbledore. He held it out to Roxanne. "Drink this, Roxanne," he said firmly. "It'll perk you up a bit."  
  
She groaned and sank back into the pillows, drawing the blankets tightly around her head and shutting the sun out of her eyes. "I don't want to perk up," she croaked tiredly.  
  
"I'm no longer greatly concerned with what you want or don't want," he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Drink this now, or I will drag you out of that bed and pour it down your throat."  
  
She'd never heard the Headmaster speak to anyone like this before. It was more than a threat. It was clearly a promise.  
  
Roxanne sat up and drew her knees to her chest, holding them with one arm and reluctantly taking the cup with the other. She took a small sip and felt warmth and strength surge through her body. After ignoring her hunger and feeding her misery for two days, the tea tasted good and dulled the sharp edges that cut at her heart.  
  
Dumbledore waited for her to finish, then offered her toast, eggs and bacon, all of which she ate obediently, almost hungrily. He watched carefully as she ate, as if she'd hide it, uneaten, beneath her pillow if he looked away.  
  
"That's better," he said, taking her empty plate and handing it to Sirius. He stood and extended his hand. "It's time to get up-no arguments."  
  
Roxanne did not argue. She let him help her up and into her dressing gown. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment, clinging to Dumbledore's arm. He handed her off to Professor McGonagall who led her, rather forcefully, into the bathroom where she made her shower and helped her dress. Sirius and Dumbledore waited, talking quietly, until she came out, her hair damp and piled neatly on her head. Dumbledore took her arm again and led her form the room, Sirius following, to the Headmaster's office.  
  
The Professor seated her in a large cushioned chair in the alcove. Remus' father sat across the small space from her. He looked as gaunt as his son and many years older than the last time Roxanne had seen him. He smiled weakly at her, then looked away, gazing out at the forest. A table stood between them. On it lay a wand.  
  
The Headmaster took a third chair in the alcove, his back to the windows. Sirius stood by Roxanne's chair.  
  
"This wand came to me by owl late last night. It belonged to the late Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said.  
  
Mr. Lupin gasped. Roxanne stared at it. Sirius placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Priori Incantatem," breathed Mr. Lupin. Dumbledore nodded. Roxanne understood the meaning of the Latin words well enough, but not what Lupin meant by speaking them now.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, looking around at the three men.  
  
"I often forget how little you have learned, Roxanne. 'Priori Incantatem' is a spell used to examine the previous spells cast by a wand," Dumbledore explained. "It seems certain that the last spell cast by this wand was the curse that killed Remus."  
  
She thought quickly, still unsure of what Dumbledore was offering her. "I don't want to see him die again, Professor," she whispered.  
  
"'Priori Incantatem' will not show you Remus' death. Remus, rather a shadow of him, will emerge from the wand. He will have only a few minutes to speak with us."  
  
Roxanne understood now. She frowned uncertainly, not knowing if she could watch him leave her again. But she did not object as Dumbledore took out his wand and placed its tip against Malfoy's.  
  
"Priori Incantatem," he commanded quietly.  
  
Instantly a silver gray swirl of smoke erupted from the end of Malfoy's wand. It flowed to the ground, taking shape as it grew, straightening, tall and lean. It was Remus. He seemed dazed for a moment and turned completely around, taking in his surroundings. Then his eyes rested on Roxanne. His shoulders sagged.  
  
"Roxanne," he said, his voice soft and silvery as his body. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"Remus-" she began.  
  
"Please. I don't have long. I wish I could touch you. Someday-someday we'll be together again. Never forget that. We are bound together for all time. I've left something for you. Wait for it. It will come."  
  
Roxanne cried silently, looking longingly into his eyes, only half hearing the words he spoke.  
  
Remus looked at Sirius next. "The last of the faithful marauders," he chuckled. "Still, old friend, you are not alone. Roxanne, watch out for him, will you?" Sirius looked at him, puzzled.  
  
Remus turned last to his father. "I am honored to have been your son." Mr. Lupin sobbed. "I died well. I hope I have made you proud of me."  
  
"My son, you could not possibly have done any less," William answered as the shadow began to fade.  
  
"I'm out of time. I love you Roxanne. I will never leave you-even if you don't always believe that."  
  
"I love you Remus. Take me with you!" she pleaded.  
  
"No! You cannot follow. You MUST not. Promise me, Roxanne," he said urgently, his voice fading. "Promise me!"  
  
"I-I promise," she whispered.  
  
Remus sighed deeply and stood erect. "Thank you, Albus," he said, his voice very faint and far off, his image little more than an outline of thin smoke.  
  
Dumbledore bowed and Remus was gone.  
  
**********  
  
Sirius stood in the open doorway of Roxanne's room. She was packing, stowing miniaturized clothes, a few books and a picture of Remus in her shoulder bag.  
  
"Do you know where you'll be staying?" he asked, frowning.  
  
She shook her head, not looking at him. "I just need to go home for awhile."  
  
"I understand. I could help you find a wizard family in Montana. I'm sure there must be a few."  
  
"No thanks. I just want to be a muggle," she said quietly.  
  
"You should at least-"  
  
"Sirius, why don't you come with me to London. I'll make arrangements from there. You'll know where I'm going and who I'll be with. Then you can leave me alone," she said irritably.  
  
He struggled not to scowl at her. He didn't think she should be going anywhere. But Dumbledore seemed to think it might be a good idea-at least for a little while-and Roxanne would not be forced to stay. "May I at least give you the names of a few wizards in the area that you could contact if you need to?"  
  
She thought a moment, then sighed. "That would be fine."  
  
Done packing, she took her robes from the bed and hung them on a hook beside her cloak, then put on a wool-lined denim jacket and tucked her wand into the inside pocket. The jacket didn't seem to fit anymore. She would have felt more comfortable in her warm cloak, but such a thing would only attract unwanted attention back home. She felt certain she'd be back for it, someday anyway.  
  
**********  
  
Rain fell lightly on Diagon Alley. Roxanne kept her head down, turning her eyes away from all that she had come to love there, and she strode quickly through the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring Tom's surprised greeting, and onto the streets of London, Sirius following close behind. They went first to a nearby bank, where she'd made arrangements for money to be transferred from Gringott's. She spoke with the manager, signed a number of forms and waited. Sirius scanned the room nervously, ready to disparate if necessary- he was still a wanted man, in both worlds. The man handed her a credit card and a sheaf of yellow papers, shook her hand, and they left.  
  
Roxanne led Sirius to the nearest pub where she bought him a drink and left him at a dimly lit corner table while she made a long-distance phone call from the phone booth.  
  
"Angela? It's Roxanne-I'm in London-yes, England. Listen, I'm coming home. Could you help me find someplace to stay-But, Allan-Divorced? Oh. I'm sorry-Are you sure? I won't be any trouble and I can help out with the kids and-Yes-Yes. I'm surprised Allan told you.-No, he won't be coming. He died not long ago," Roxanne said, lip trembling a little now. "I need to get my feet back underneath me-I don't know how long-Are you sure?-What about Allan. He won't be too happy-If you're sure. I don't want to cause you any more problems-OK. Thanks, Angela-I'll be there tomorrow night-All right. Goodbye."  
  
Sirius rode in a cab with her to the airport. "Are you sure you want to travel this way?" he asked. "I could've made arrangements for a portkey."  
  
She shook her head. "I think it's better this way."  
  
Inside the terminal he waited as she purchased her ticket then walked her to the metal detectors.  
  
"This is as far as you go, Sirius," she said. "Take care of Harry. I'll see you." She kissed him on the cheek and they embraced. She felt a warm tear fall on her neck and pushed him away, wiping his eyes with her finger. "I'll be fine, Sirius. Don't weigh yourself down worrying about me, too."  
  
He nodded. "You have those names, and some floo powder?"  
  
"Yes. They're right here," she said patting her bag. "Thank you-for letting me go."  
  
Sirius hugged her again, then turned and walked away, looking for a quiet corner where he could apparate secretly back to Hogsmeade. 


	20. Remus's Gift

CHAPTER TWENTY: Remus' Gift  
  
The first part of May, Western Montana was just beginning to burst from the grip of the long, cold winter. Missoula lay in a wide valley, nestled in the Rocky Mountains on the Eastern edge of the Bitterroot range. Large patches of snow still covered the ground in town and clung to the high mountain peaks in every direction. But the crocuses and tulips were bursting from the earth, and the sun shone from clear blue skies almost daily.  
  
Roxanne waited , sitting on the steps of her nephew's school, for Nicholas to come out at the end of the day. Lacey, her niece, played on the grass nearby. Angela worked, and had gratefully accepted when Roxanne offered to take care of them while she was gone. It seemed Allan had spent away much of the cash inheritance he'd received, and the struggle to support two households left them both short on money. Childcare expenses were high, as were all of Angela's bills. Roxanne insisted on buying the groceries and paying some rent (to the tune of $5000 dollars slipped furtively into Angela's checking account).  
  
The bell rang loudly, and children spilled out the doors. Roxanne collected Lacey from the grass to keep her from being trampled, and watched for Nick's small figure. As usual, he was one of the last ones out, walking slowly, alone, his head hanging, his backpack hanging precariously from one shoulder.  
  
"Hey, buddy!" Roxanne called brightly. "How was school today?"  
  
"OK, I guess," he said lamely. "I'm glad it's over."  
  
'This little boy carries a lot of weight on those six-year-old shoulders,' Roxanne thought, looking at him carefully. "Don't you like school, Nick?" she asked.  
  
"No," he said flatly.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't have any friends. They all think I'm weird," he said sadly, taking her hand and walking along with her towards home.  
  
"Weird how?" Roxanne asked slowly.  
  
"I don't know. They just don't like to play with me."  
  
Roxanne knew that noncommittal answer well. She'd uttered it herself as a six-year-old. Her mother had taken her home, sat her on her lap and hugged her. "I'll always like playing with you," she'd said. And she'd kept saying that for four more years, always seeming to make the world livable for at least one more day, as Roxanne's sense of not belonging grew year after year. There was something about Nick. She wondered if she was seeing the same traits her father had recognized in her so long ago. She'd not seen many small wizard children. She imagined most of them fit quite nicely into their wizard families and communities. They probably had little wizard friends to play dueling with, waving sticks around like wands and pretending to fly on make-believe broomsticks just as muggle children played cowboys and Indians or house.  
  
"Nick," she asked, "does anything strange happen sometimes when you're really mad or frightened?"  
  
Nick stopped dead, his eyes growing wide as saucers. He nodded slowly. "How did you know?" he whispered. "I haven't even told my mommy."  
  
"I see. The same kinds of things happened to me when I was a kid," she said.  
  
Unbelievably, Nick's eyes grew even wider and his mouth fell open. "What did you do?"  
  
"I told my mommy. She didn't really understand. I think she thought I was making up stories. But she always helped make me feel better about being different." Roxanne looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I tell you what," she finally said, "I'll talk to your mommy about it and we'll see what we can do for you. OK?"  
  
"I don't want my mommy to think I'm lying," he said, big tears welling in his eyes.  
  
"Don't worry about that. She'll believe you after I've talked to her." Roxanne squeezed his hand and they walked on, Nick skipping lightly along the way.  
  
**********  
  
Angela came home late that evening after calling Roxanne to ask if it was all right for her to stay and catch up on some things. She and the kids had eaten a frozen pizza for dinner and when Angela came in she found the Lacey and Nick watching a video and Roxanne lying exhausted on the couch.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Roxanne. I didn't realize I'd be quite so late. Did they completely wear you down?"  
  
Roxanne sat up, smiling. "No, I've just been tired lately, not feeling very well. I'm sure it's nothing."  
  
But Angela's brow furrowed and she looked at her curiously, but said nothing in front of the children, who ran to their mother and threw their arms around her neck. She strained and picked them both up, nuzzling them contentedly. "I'm so happy to see you two! But it's time you were in bed."  
  
Both children complained, begging to stay up just a little while longer. But their mother was firm and with Roxanne's help they were soon in pajamas and brushing their teeth, then being tucked into bed and listening to a bedtime story. Lacey was fast asleep before Little Red Riding Hood made it to Grandmother's house. Nick looked drowsily at Roxanne who gave him the thumbs up and followed Angela to the kitchen.  
  
"Sit down," Angela said. "I'll make you some hot chocolate."  
  
Roxanne did as she said, working through her mind how to present Nick's problem to Angela. But Angela spoke first.  
  
"Roxanne, could you be pregnant?"  
  
"What!? No." But she paused, remembering Remus' words. He'd left her something. But the timing was wrong. It seemed impossible. "I can't be," she whispered. "I don't think."  
  
Angela came over, looking at her face, and placed the cup of cocoa on the table. "I'll pick up a test on the way home from work tomorrow."  
  
Roxanne nodded numbly, her errand momentarily forgotten, and sipped at the hot chocolate. Her mind raced. What would she do? Where would she go? Would Dumbledore take her back? She couldn't stay with the Weasleys-the Burrow was gone and they were staying at Hogwarts now anyway. And Sirius- he'd think he'd have to keep an eye on her, on the baby. He didn't need any more burdens to carry.  
  
Angela brought her back to the moment. "You wanted to talk to me about something," she said.  
  
Roxanne sighed, adjusting her thoughts, working to focus on little Nick again. "Yes. It's Nick. He's not liking school very much."  
  
"I know," said Angel, her face clouding. "I've talked to his teacher. She doesn't know what to do with him. She says he's anti-social-even recommended I take him to a shrink. I don't have the money for that. I'm worried about him, but working so much I just don't know what to do."  
  
"Don't take him to a shrink," said Roxanne. "I think I can help, but you're going to have to change everything you believe."  
  
Angela looked at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity.  
  
"He's just like me when I was kid. Just like his grandpa Lorenzo. Do you remember that trunk he left me, when he died?"  
  
Angela nodded slowly.  
  
"It was full of some of the strangest things. He left me a letter too. It explained everything. Maybe I should just let you read it." Roxanne rose and went to her room, coming back with her shoulder bag, her wand sticking up out of the top. She removed Lorenzo's letter and handed it to Angela, then sat down and waited for her to read.  
  
"A wizard?" she laughed mockingly. "I knew the old man was a little strange, but he believed he was a wizard? Roxanne, what does this have to do with Nick."  
  
"Finish the letter, then I'll show you."  
  
Angela read on, sniffing mockingly at the words. Finished, she threw the letter on the table in front of Roxanne. "Do you really expect me to believe-" But Roxanne had drawn her wand from her bag, along with one of her books-"A History of Magic"-and pointing the wand at the cover whispered "Engorgio." The book instantly grew to its normal size. Angela started, gripping the edge of the table and gasping. Roxanne opened the book to Chapter 18, turned the book around and pointed to the page. Angela saw the heading "The Establishment of Wizard Education" and a picture of a large, majestic castle. It took her a few moments to realize that the flags on the towers were waving and that tiny figures could be seen moving about on the grounds.  
  
"That's Hogwarts. It's where I've been all this time. I'm learning all sorts of things. I've even learned how to transform myself into a falcon."  
  
Angela looked at her, still skeptical. "How is it that there is this huge castle and I've-we've never heard anything about it?"  
  
"Magic, Angela. It's covered with spells and enchantments. A muggle would come upon Hogwarts and see some ruins with danger signs posted all around, or a muddy, smelly marsh. We have laws to protect the muggles from finding out about us. There's even an American Magic Council and a school here-in Virginia, if I remember correctly."  
  
"What exactly is a muggle?" Angela asked, her eyes now wide with wonder and a trace of fear.  
  
"Non-magic people," Roxanne explained.  
  
"And what does all this have to do with Nick?"  
  
"He's a wizard, too. I'm almost certain. He doesn't need counseling, he needs to be among his own kind-where he'll fit in," Roxanne explained.  
  
"Are you suggesting that I let you take my little boy with you to England?" hissed Angela.  
  
"No!" said Roxanne, "Nothing like that-at least not yet. He won't get his letter until he's eleven. He can choose Hogwarts or Hawthorne-or you can choose not to give him the letter."  
  
Angela dropped her head into her hands. "Allan would never agree to anything like this. Oh, Roxanne! I'll believe anything if it'll help make Nick happy, but Allan-"  
  
"We have five years yet to figure it out," Roxanne soothed. "Until then, just do your best. Nick'll be all right-especially after we tell him."  
  
"We can't tell him-he's just a little boy-"  
  
"Angela, he needs hope," Roxanne said. "Give him that much right now and he'll be a different kid. When it's time we'll figure something out-even if I have to come back here and teach him myself."  
  
Angela sat, motionless, staring at the castle, then thumbed through the book, looking incredulously at the moving pictures inside. She looked at Roxanne's wand, then at Roxanne. "Show me more," she said.  
  
For the next hour, Roxanne filled the house with bursts of light and dazzling displays of magic-levitating the kids' toys into their toy boxes, turning lights on and off, transforming wooden skewers into a dozen yellow roses (Angela's favorite color), and finally transforming into a falcon for her. But the transformation felt odd, as if part of her refused to transform completely, though she looked exactly as she should.  
  
"You're husband," Angela asked, "was a wizard too?"  
  
Roxanne nodded. "He was a good man, Angela. You'd have a hard time finding better-anywhere."  
  
Roxanne fell into bed late, exhausted and full of uncertainty, crying herself quietly to sleep.  
  
**********  
  
Angela came home early the next day, a small paper sack in her hand, which she handed to Roxanne before greeting the children. Allan would be coming in a few hours to pick them up for the weekend. Roxanne had them bathed and packed so Angela could spend a little time with them before they left. She left them alone and went into the bathroom, the sack clutched tightly in her hand.  
  
A few minutes later, she came out, pale and silent. Angela looked at her, the question in her eyes. Roxanne nodded twice, a trembling smile on her face, but worry in her eyes. They said nothing to the children. Dumbledore would want to know-it could wait until after Allan was gone.  
  
"Why don't you go lie down for awhile," suggested Angela.  
  
Roxanne nodded and shut herself in her room, undressing and slipping under the covers.  
  
She woke suddenly, unsure what time it was, but she heard shouting from the front room. Allan. He was shouting at Angela who was trying to get him to lower his voice in front of the children.  
  
"I want her out of here and away from my kids, Angela!" He yelled so loudly Roxanne could clearly hear his every word through the closed door.  
  
Angela quietly mumbled something, her voice angry but subdued. The children whimpered, Nick pleading with his daddy. Roxanne jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, rushing out to confront her pig of a brother.  
  
"Allan, lay off!" she shouted, coming swiftly down the hall.  
  
He charged at her, grabbing her arms tightly, his fingers digging into her skin. "What are you doing here, Roxanne! We don't want you here!"  
  
"I want her here, Daddy," whimpered Nick, crying.  
  
Allan ignored him, snarling instead to his sister, "You're a drunk and a loser and I don't want you near my children! Get out, now!"  
  
Roxanne glared at him, struggling to free her arms. "I'm not a drunk, Allan. I'm clean. I swear it on our mother's grave."  
  
"But you managed to get yourself knocked up!" he yelled. "Are you going to bring some low-life bum into this house to molest my kids and live off Angela's alimony?!"  
  
"He was my husband, and he's dead, and if you ever imply that he was anything like you again-"  
  
Allan smacked her with the back of his hand, splitting her lip and sending her reeling onto the floor. Allan spotted a section of her back as she fell, saw the thin black lines there and came at her again, pinning her down with his legs and pulling her shirt up. Angela gasped at the sight of the huge black scar, the evil-looking Dark Mark that filled her with a dread she did not understand. Allan leapt up, filled with loathing.  
  
"What are you into, Roxanne? What kind of sick life have you gotten involved in?" he hissed.  
  
Roxanne sat up, dabbing gingerly at her mouth. Allan could see the shame in her eyes. Angela knelt by her, looking at the cut, cursing under her breath. "Allan," she spat, "leave now or-"  
  
"Or what?" he growled.  
  
"-or I'll call the police."  
  
"Daddy, please. Let's go," said Nick, tugging at his sleeve. Allan swore at them both, grabbed Nick's hand and scooped up Lacey before storming out the door.  
  
"I'll pack my things," said Roxanne rising slowly.  
  
Angela grabbed her hand and pulled her to the floor again. "Is that what you want to give my son?" she said, hurt and angry.  
  
"If all goes well Nick will never have to see that mark again," Roxanne said quietly.  
  
Angela stared at her sternly, waiting for an explanation.  
  
"It's called the Dark Mark. It's the symbol of a dark wizard named Voldemort," said Roxanne. "He's the wizard equivalent of Stalin or Hitler- but with a power you can't even imagine."  
  
"And you're one of his followers?" Angela said sourly.  
  
"No! I'm working with the other side. We're trying to defea-"  
  
"Then how did you get that mark?" said Angela, trying hard to believe.  
  
Roxanne hung her head, the memories flooding back. "Voldemort's followers captured me. They tortured me and-they did this." Roxanne lifted her shirt, turning for Angela to see the entire mark, the scars, the thin black lines. "It was a message-a declaration of war. They left me in the forest to die. They knew my body would be found and that the message would be clear."  
  
Angela sat in stunned silence as Roxanne lowered her shirt.  
  
"I'm sorry. I guess I should have told you before I came. But I swear-I swear on my oath to Remus that I'm on the right side this time," Roxanne explained, pleading in her eyes.  
  
"You said IF all goes well," said Angela. "What if it doesn't."  
  
Roxanne sighed. "Then the entire world will eventually know the Dark Mark and what it stands for," she said ominously. "If Voldemort conquers the wizard world, there will be nothing to protect the muggles from him."  
  
**********  
  
(Dear Professor Dumbledore,  
  
I'm ready to come home. I have Remus' gift, but I don't know how best to get it there. Is floo powder harmful to a pregnancy? Please advise.  
  
R. Lupin)  
  
**********  
  
Late Sunday Angela lay reading. Roxanne had gone to bed a little while ago. The children were home and asleep now. She'd met Allan at the driveway, seeing him off without allowing him into the house. A loud knock on the front door startled her from her book and she looked at the clock- 10:40. Late for visitors. She cringed, thinking it might be Allan back for another attack on his sister. Her conversation with Roxanne the other night left her spooked and she stood and paced quietly to the kitchen where she found a large butcher knife. She grasped the handle tightly and crept to the door, looking out the peephole. She saw a man there, dressed all in black, bobbing on his toes agitatedly.  
  
"What do you want?" Angela called through the door.  
  
"Mrs. Stewart, my name is Sirius Black. I'm a friend of Roxanne's. May I see her?" he called back in a crisp English accent.  
  
Angela thought for a moment of telling him that Roxanne had gone away, but as her panic subsided a little and she began to think more clearly, she realized that an evil wizard probably wouldn't be polite enough to knock.  
  
"Just a minute," she called. "I'll see if she wants to see you."  
  
She reached Roxanne's door, realized she still had the knife clutched in her hand and hurriedly took it to the kitchen before knocking, opening the door and calling softly until Roxanne stirred. She explained about the man at the door, describing him, as Roxanne fought to clear the sleep from her mind.  
  
"Sirius? He's here? Now?" She flung the covers aside and sprang out of bed, not bothering with a robe or slippers. She rushed to the door, Angela close behind and threw it open. Sirius swept in, taking her by the arms, looking into her eyes.  
  
"Are you sure?" he said urgently. "Are you really-"  
  
She nodded, a smile at her lips, sorrow in her eyes.  
  
"Dumbledore's worried about you," he said taking her in his arms. "He wants you home as soon as possible. He's sent a portkey with me." He pulled an old leather shoelace from his pocket.  
  
Roxanne needed to gather her things and say goodbye. Sirius helped her, doting on her, asking how she felt, ignoring Angela altogether even after Roxanne's introduction.  
  
She went to the children's rooms. Lacey refused to wake, so Roxanne kissed her cheek and tucked the blankets affectionately around her chin. Nick, though, was wide awake when she came in , followed by Sirius. Nick's eyes grew wide.  
  
"Is he a real wizard, Aunt Roxanne?"  
  
"He is. This is my friend Sirius."  
  
Black stepped forward and shook the boy's hand, looking quizzically at Roxanne.  
  
"You take good care of your mom," she said, stroking his hair. Nick nodded. "Do you remember how to reach me?" she asked.  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"And remember. Keep it in here," she said pointing to his forehead.  
  
"I promise," he said, reaching out to give her a hug. She tucked him in again.  
  
"I'll see you again, soon, I hope," she whispered as she switched off the light.  
  
**********  
  
It was early morning of the next day in Hogsmeade when Sirius and Roxanne transported out of Montana a little before midnight. They walked back toward the castle, Roxanne smiling and sighing at the sight of Hogwarts' towers rising over the hills.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey says your perfectly safe using floo powder or portkeys, or apparating-we might have to hurry that skill along a bit," said Sirius as he strolled along, carrying her bag. "You're not to transform. There's no telling what it might do to the baby, or you, especially later on."  
  
Roxanne stopped, her face blanching a little. "I transformed two days ago," she said slowly.  
  
Sirius' face turned grim. "We'd better have Madame Pomfrey take a look then-right away."  
  
But Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them on the front steps. She scooted Roxanne to her room, listening glumly as Sirius explained about the transformation. At the door Madame Pomfrey shooed Sirius away, swept Roxanne inside and helped her into some pajamas and then into bed. Roxanne was growing very tired. After three weeks she was well acclimated to Montana time, and she should be long asleep by now.  
  
Molly Weasley came in then, as Madame Pomfrey poked and prodded, asking Roxanne questions about her health. "Nausea? Vomiting? Headaches? Fatigue? Are you eating well?" At Madame Pomfrey's bidding, Mrs. Weasley handed her a small blue marble suspended on the end of a gold chain. She then sat beside Roxanne and took her hand warmly, smiling, as Madame Pomfrey held the chain at the end farthest from the marble and suspended it magically over Roxanne's belly. She stepped back and watched carefully.  
  
The marble began to circle slowly clockwise, the circle widening, the marble glinting in the light, until Madame Pomfrey was satisfied. She reached out and stopped the marble with her hand, held it still for a moment, then released it again. This time the marble began to swing from side to side in longer and longer strokes until Madame Pomfrey snatched it from the air, looked closely at it for a moment, then handed it back to Molly. Mrs. Weasley beamed, but said nothing.  
  
"It seems, Mrs. Lupin, that the muggles have indeed come up with an accurate pregnancy test-and that your transformation caused no harm. You are expecting. You're son will be born sometime the middle of January. I'll make up a list of potions and ingredients you should avoid, and some you may find helpful."  
  
"Son?" said Roxanne. "Are you sure?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey threw her a withering look. "Of course I'm sure. I am never wrong, am I Molly."  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled broadly. "Poppy was my midwife before she came to work at Hogwarts. She never missed one-except Fred. She hadn't figured on two of them." Her eyes twinkled, tearing just a little. "Glad to be home?" she asked, tucking the covers up around Roxanne's shoulders.  
  
Roxanne nodded, snuggling into the warm sheets. "Thank you Molly. And-I'm sorry about Charlie."  
  
Molly smiled wearily. "And I'm sorry about Remus," she said quietly.  
  
Madame Pomfrey pulled the curtains closed, blocking out the morning sun, and put out the lights before walking out, arm in arm with Mrs. Weasley. They left Roxanne alone with one of the most frightening thoughts she'd ever known-motherhood.  
  
**********  
  
At breakfast the next day Professor Dumbledore announced the resumption of potions classes. A smattering of groans, mixed with a few cheers, erupted from the house tables. It seemed pointless to Roxanne to pick up potions again with only 6 weeks of term remaining, but Dumbledore had stressed to her that the 6th and 7th years would need a great deal of catching up if they were to pass the potions sections of their NEWTS and OWLS-now only four weeks away.  
  
Roxanne no longer rose early. Instead, she slept long into the morning, often hurrying to wolf down an unsettled breakfast before rushing to beat her students to class. She grew more tired and cranky with each passing day, snapping at students for minor errors and piling on homework in her haste to get them caught up. Neville Longbottom began avoiding her as earnestly as he had Professor Snape, despite the pleasant tutoring sessions he'd had with Roxanne earlier in the year.  
  
Her moodiness finally became too much for everyone when she got into a shouting match at the breakfast table with Professor Trelawney-all over a pitcher of orange juice. Dumbledore stood and announced that the first potions class would be cancelled (cheers erupted from the second-years) and motioned for Roxanne to follow him. He escorted her to the Hospital wing where he sat her on a bed then pulled a stool up to sit before her.  
  
She burst into a hysterical fit of tears. "I'm s-sorry Professor! I'm just so t-tired! And I-I'm worried about the exams! And I have no idea how to change diapers or-or make chicken soup! And I'm afraid!"  
  
"Afraid? Of what?" he said, listening sympathetically to her disorganized tirade.  
  
"I'm afraid of being alone-of doing this by myself. I'm afraid-" She stopped, thinking hard, looking away from Dumbledore's penetrating gaze.  
  
"What is it Roxanne?" he said soothingly.  
  
"Will my baby be-will he be like Remus?"  
  
"A werewolf? You haven't read up on this?"  
  
"I don't remember coming across anything about this before. And I haven't had time to do any extra reading." She yawned. "I'm barely able to make it through classes-I'm late every morning and by dinnertime I'm so tired I can barely keep my head out of my plate."  
  
The Headmaster patted her knee. "No. He will not be a werewolf," he assured her. "Unless he was conceived under a full moon."  
  
Roxanne shook her head and sighed. "I feel like I'm being disloyal to Remus for being happy about that."  
  
"Nonsense!" blustered Dumbledore. "Remus would not want his son to live with the agony he endured throughout his life-nor his wife to endure the heartache his mother suffered for him."  
  
Roxanne nodded, yawning again.  
  
"As for being alone-you are not alone," he said, his eyes twinkling encouragingly. " Your family is here for you, all around you. Your child will have aunts, uncles, cousins-as well as a foolish old grandfather-to help care for him and his mother. I'm afraid I can't be much help with chicken soup. You'll have to ask Molly about that. But I've done a fair bit of diapering in my day."  
  
Madame Pomfrey came from her office and helped ease Roxanne onto the pillows. She protested, mumbling about her classes being too far behind.  
  
"I'll see to your classes today," Dumbledore assured her. "But I expect to see you bright and early for breakfast tomorrow. I daresay by then you'll be feeling much better." He nodded to Madame Pomfrey who gave Roxanne a mild, sweet tasting potion before walking with the Headmaster to the exit. Roxanne was fast asleep before he was out of the room.  
  
**********  
  
No one complained when they found Dumbledore instead of Roxanne sitting at the potions master's desk that day. Only three fifth years asked after her- Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Dumbledore explained that she was resting today, but would be back tomorrow. Hermione, concern in her voice, asked if there was anything they could do to help.  
  
"I'm glad you asked, Miss Granger," said the Headmaster pleasantly. "Actually, there are a few potions that may be of some help to Mrs. Lupin. Perhaps you would like to make them for her."  
  
Hermione, to the groans of many, gladly accepted and took charge of organizing the class into small groups, each assigned to a different potion- one for morning sickness, one for fatigue, one for clarifying the mind. Hermione carefully monitored Neville's progress. Fortunately there were no Slytherin's in class to sabotage the potions-only Neville's clumsiness.  
  
The Headmaster delivered the potions to Roxanne himself after classes. She smiled gratefully and asked him to thank the students.  
  
"Thank them yourself-you'll be back on your feet tomorrow."  
  
And she certainly was. She rose early the next morning, feeling refreshed, restless, and hungry. Roxanne pushed her students hard as the weeks flew by, the exams just around the corner now. Her belly, though not obviously larger, felt full and tight and she began to grow very conscious of her tightening waste bands. A visit to Madam Malkin's would have to wait until after the end of term, though. In the meantime, she switched from jeans to sweatpants and kept her robes fastened at the front.  
  
With one week to go before exams, she holed up after classes in the staffroom, feet propped up, in front of the windows, grading papers. She learned a great deal from the many expertly written 6th and 7th year scrolls. None fell short of her expectations. Most had done well enough on their NEWTS and OWLS to at least pass-even if their potions grades were not as high as Roxanne would have liked. Professor McGonagall found her there and cleared her throat quietly to attract Roxanne's attention.  
  
"I'm sorry to disturb you Roxanne. The Headmaster would like to see you in his office."  
  
She shrugged and laid the pile of papers on the table beside her chair. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
**********  
  
She found Professor Dumbledore sitting serenely behind his desk. He smiled when she came in. "Roxanne, I would like you to meet Mr. Uberhalz," he said pointing to a short, stocky man with the same gaunt grayness she'd known well in Remus' features. "He is visiting with me as a representative of the werewolves. He wanted to meet you."  
  
Roxanne stepped forward and extended her hand. Uberhalz looked at her. He did not recognize any hint of distaste or prejudice in her eyes as she looked steadily at him, waiting for him to return her gesture. He took her hand and shook it firmly.  
  
"Forgive my interrupting your studies," he said politely, with a heavy German accent. "I'm anxious to see for myself the kind of woman who would willingly bind herself to a werewolf. Unfortunately, people of your ilk are rare."  
  
"I married Remus because I loved him, Mr. Uberhalz. Not because he was a werewolf," she responded.  
  
"Did you know about him before you loved him?" he asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Most would not have continued a relationship beyond that point. Many would have run screaming from him," he said bitterly.  
  
"Remus never gave me any reason to fear him. Perhaps if all werewolves were more like him, no one would have cause to fear." Roxanne's eyes were clear, her manner confident, her point well made.  
  
"Perhaps you don't understand the history of the werewolves," said Uberhalz, a note of irritation in his voice, "and the persecution we have suffered throughout the centuries."  
  
"I've read my history," she said calmly. "I know all about that. But at what point in history did a hard life make a good excuse for making wrong choices? Remus certainly didn't let his past, or his own persecution, steer him toward evil. He held fast to what he knew was right-simply because it was just that. It was right."  
  
Dumbledore did not interrupt, but sat back, his eyes twinkling, watching over the top of his spectacles.  
  
"You're here representing the werewolves?" she asked. "So what have you decided. Are you with us or not?"  
  
"I cannot speak for all of us, Mrs. Lupin-"  
  
"Then why are you here? Where I come from a representative speaks for his people. If you can't do that there's no point in your wasting our time," she said, nodding toward the Headmaster. Uberhalz narrowed his eyes, glaring at her, but remained silent.  
  
"I have papers to grade. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Uberhalz," she said, shaking his hand again before striding out, her robes swinging behind her as she disappeared down the spiral staircase.  
  
"She can be quite a burr under one's saddle sometimes," commented the Headmaster, his eyes sparking delightedly. "But she made some very good points. Don't you agree?"  
  
Uberhalz's aggravated expression softened a little. "Are all Americans like her?" he grumbled.  
  
"Certainly not. Just as all werewolves are not like Remus Lupin. But perhaps more of you should be."  
  
Uberhalz sagged a bit in his chair. He nodded gravely. "Perhaps we should," he said. 


	21. Remus and Lorenzo

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Dark Days to Come  
  
Outside the sun shone brightly. Hogwarts castle was nearly empty. Most of the students, and staff, were enjoying the summer warmth, lounging about in the sun, relieved to have exams behind them. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving for King's Cross tomorrow morning. Harry, and Hermione lay on the grass in front of Hagrid's hut, watching Ron and Roxanne play chess. Hagrid sat nearby in an enormous chair, stirring at a large bubbling cauldron of Magi-grow plant growth potion. He intended to have the largest pumpkins ever seen for next year's Halloween feast. Sirius stood in the shade of the hut, leaning against the doorframe, reading the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Listen to this," he said aloud, stepping forward as the others looked towards him:  
  
When questioned about the case of Sirius Black, Minister Fudge  
refused comment. However, Arthur Weasley, head of Misuse of Magic,  
stated that he believed Black to be innocent of crimes for which he  
was convicted nearly 16 years ago. Mr. Weasley provided evidence in  
the form of statements made by Black and several others, that Peter  
Pettigrew is, in fact, alive and that Pettigrew is responsible for the  
deaths of 12 muggles-a crime for which Black served 13 years in  
Azkaban prison before escaping. Black has successfully evaded  
authorities since his escape. Mr. Weasley refused to disclose where  
he obtained Black's statement. One statement, made by a teacher at Hogwarts-a Mrs. Roxanne Lupin-  
affirms that Pettigrew was seen, by Mrs. Lupin, on Halloween night of  
last year. Included among the testimonials provided by Mr. Weasley  
was a letter from Albus Dumbledore in support of Mr. Black and  
denouncing Cornelius Fudge for his refusal to retry the case.  
Pettigrew's mother refused comment.  
  
"I think she knows," spat Black darkly. "Peter's mother was never one to refuse the opportunity to make some sort of comment-especially when it came to her son."  
  
Harry could see the gears working in his godfather's head, saw the rage boil up in his eyes, knew the sort of reckless violence he was capable of when angered. "Sirius," he said slowly.  
  
But Hagrid was behind Sirius now, a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don' ye think it best to let Perfesser Dumbledore decide how to handle this," he soothed. "Besides, ye've got Vernon Dursley to contend wi.' Tha's enough fer any one man."  
  
Sirius agreed unconvincingly. Harry knew he'd not let it drop that easily.  
  
Roxanne leaned over to Harry, whispered into his ear for a long minute, then rose announcing that Harry would be taking over her game for her, and took Sirius by the arm. "We're going for a walk," she said.  
  
Ron smiled. He knew he was losing the game, but now, with Harry taking over he felt a surge of overgrown confidence return.  
  
But Harry had listened closely to Roxanne's whispered instructions and two moves later checked Ron's king.  
  
**********  
  
She steered Sirius into the forest, walking slowly along a wide, well-worn path, gripping his arm more tightly as they walked farther into the dimness. He tried to stop her, but she pressed on obstinately, refusing to let him ask what she was up to. The path narrowed as it wound its way through denser stands of trees. Roxanne was shaking, breathing shallowly, when she finally stopped, standing in the center of a small circle of black trees rising high into the blue sky hidden somewhere overhead above their thickly growing leaves and branches.  
  
"I don't remember how to get there," she said, trembling. "I'd take you there if I thought I could find it. But I guess it doesn't really matter."  
  
Sirius tried to speak, but she pressed a hand to his lips.  
  
"The clearing was bigger than this. The cauldron stood right in the center. They were all around me," she said, turning with her arms outspread. "I was helpless. That's what I fear the most-being helpless like that again. I felt that way when Remus died. There was nothing I could do for him. He asked me to keep an eye on you and I intend to do that. But I can't if you go running off to fight your battles alone."  
  
"You don't need to watch out for me, Roxanne," he said angrily.  
  
"Someone needs to. You're not doing a very good job of it."  
  
"I'm doing just fine on my own. I've survived this long-"  
  
"Survived maybe. But with how much real success? We have to do more than just survive."  
  
Sirius fell silent.  
  
"Don't make me feel helpless again, Sirius. Remus asked me to do something, and you have to help me do it."  
  
**********  
  
Vernon Dursley waited impatiently at the end of Platform 10 for his detestable nephew to appear. 'Why do I even bother?' he thought bitterly, dreading the odd stares he knew he'd be getting when Harry wheeled his trolley, a caged owl perched on top, through the station. He checked his watch for the thirtieth time. Just a few more minutes.  
  
"Vernon Dursley?" said a voice excitedly from far down the platform. Uncle Vernon saw a tall, dark-haired man waving and smiling. He seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite place him. He waited for the man to approach. They shook hands.  
  
"Forgive me. Do I know you?" he said.  
  
"You certainly should. My name," said the stranger, his voice lowering, "is Sirius Black."  
  
Dursley stopped breathing, his eyes growing wide and darting about for help.  
  
"Don't bother," said Black coolly. "My wand is easily reached, and I can pop out of here faster than you can stutter your own name."  
  
"What do you want?" Vernon gasped.  
  
"I want to be certain my godson has a safe, pleasant summer holiday," Sirius said, throwing his arm over Dursley's shoulders and pressing him toward the magical entrance to Platform 9 ¾ with a broad, yet slightly sinister grin.  
  
**********  
  
"Good morning. This is Maximillian Braggins with Wizard Wireless Network, interrupting your regularly scheduled programming with a news bulletin. Only hours after the safe arrival of the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross Station, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore met with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, as well as a large body of Ministry Officials and representatives of Magical communities from around the world. The meeting was held behind closed doors. Our man waiting outside reported that heated arguments could be heard from inside the room.  
  
"The meeting finally ended less than one hour ago. Minister Cornelius Fudge refused comment and left the area immediately, followed by several others. Headmaster Dumbledore graciously answered questions for reporters. According to Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will function independently of the Ministry of Magic. Disenchanted by the Ministry's lack of resolve in confronting the rise of dark magic among us, Dumbledore has broken all ties between the school and the Ministry. Dumbledore confirmed that He-who-must-not-be-named is, in fact, alive and gaining power and followers once more. He called for those who are willing to act against the Dark Lord to contact him at Hogwarts as soon as possible. Dumbledore also asserted that Hogwarts would remain open and he would expect students back to begin term on September first as usual.  
  
"Several Ministry officials, including Arthur Weasley, have tendered their resignations, effectively dissolving at least two entire Ministry departments, in response to Dumbledore's announcements. Cornelius Fudge continues to refuse comment. Mundungus Fletcher, a former Hogwarts teacher, suggested that the Ministry may be under the control of the Dark Lord, stating that several formerly suspected Dark wizards remain among the Ministry staff and Executive Committees.  
  
"Dumbledore refused to comment specifically on Sirius Black, saying only that he was certain of Black's innocence and pledged to see to the matter personally.  
  
"In a related story, the mother of Peter Pettigrew, a wizard Black was convicted of murdering nearly 16 years ago, was found dead in her London flat late last night. It is believed she died of natural causes."  
  
**********  
  
Sirius Black paced agitatedly in front of the Hospital Wing door. Arthur Weasley stood guard, repeatedly blocking Sirius from entering. "Trust me, Sirius. It's for the best," he'd say, sternly planting his feet and holding Sirius by the shoulders.  
  
Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick stood in a nearby alcove talking quietly, glancing frequently at Sirius and chuckling merrily.  
  
Harry Potter sat on the floor, his head resting on his knees, doing his best to catch a few minutes sleep. At sixteen, as with any teenager, sleep was a valuable commodity, and he hoped, despite the excitement, that this would be over soon so he could go back to bed. They'd waited for four hours so far, with no end in sight. "These things work on their own clock, Harry," Professor Dumbledore had told him.  
  
They tried to pass the time and calm Sirius by talking about Quidditch, classes, and last week's festive Christmas celebrations. But topics for conversation soon ran out as the hours dragged by.  
  
Another echoing, muffled cry seeped through the door and Sirius rushed at Arthur again, growling impatiently.  
  
Severus Snape came hurrying down the corridor carrying a jar of a blue colored potion, and with a nod from Arthur slipped inside the infirmary. Sirius tried to follow, or at least get a glimpse of what was going on inside.  
  
"You really don't want to be in there," Arthur said, blocking him again. "It's much too dangerous just yet."  
  
Harry started at a series of loud shrieks and a crash.  
  
"Poor Severus," tutted Arthur. "I don't envy him. I hope he's all right."  
  
Moments later Snape emerged, wide-eyed, his hair falling in his face, a long scratch glaring angrily on his cheek. Sirius blanched. Snape brushed his hair aside and joined him in his nervous pacing, patting at his face with a handkerchief. But, for a time at least, Sirius seemed much less anxious to get in.  
  
"There's something wrong," Sirius hissed. "It's too early."  
  
"Early, true. But not too early," soothed Arthur. "Everything'll be fine. Poppy knows her stuff. Why, I remember-"  
  
But the infirmary door opened and Molly waved Sirius inside. She smiled brightly, took him firmly by the elbow and steered him to the curtained bed at the end of the room. Roxanne lay, propped up high, her knees up and covered by a sheet. She was panting heavily, sweat poured from her face, her hair, tied up in a ponytail, was damp. She had her eyes closed, resting for the few seconds she had between contractions  
  
"Everything's going well. She's just started pushing," said Molly. "She'll need your help now."  
  
Sirius rushed to the head of the bed and took Roxanne's hand. She opened her eyes and smiled tiredly. "Is Severus OK?" she asked.  
  
"What did you do to him?"  
  
"I couldn't control myself-" she began.  
  
"There's nothing more dangerous than a witch in labor, I always say," cut in Madame Pomfrey. "Severus is lucky her wand was out of reach. Molly here nearly killed Arthur when Ron was born. Stuck his big head in the door for a split second and I suddenly had two patients to take care of." She tutted loudly.  
  
Roxanne groaned softly, her brow furrowing tightly.  
  
"Here comes another one. You know what to do," said Molly firmly . Sirius held Roxanne's hand tightly, whispering instructions and encouragement into her ear. She took two deep breaths and pushed, straining hard, Sirius still coaching.  
  
"I can see the head now. Nearly there, Roxanne. Just one or two more," said Madame Pomfrey from the foot of the bed.  
  
But the contraction was over and she collapsed back into the pillows, panting. Professor McGonagall offered a cool cloth, which Sirius used to wipe the perspiration from Roxanne's forehead. But it wasn't long until the next contraction surged through her body and she was pushing again.  
  
**********  
  
Twenty minutes passes before the Hospital Wing doors opened again and Sirius came, pushing the door open with his back and turning to show everyone the small bundle he held awkwardly in his arms. "Say 'hello' to young Remus Lupin," he announced proudly. The small group of men gathered around, gawking at the tiny face, touching the long-fingered hands. Sirius looked at each of them before handing the child to Severus. Snape tried to refuse, but Sirius insisted and he took the baby, his hands trembling slightly. He held it much like Sirius had-as if the boy were made of glass. Remus squirmed and stretched, arching his back and whimpering in a voice as small as he. Harry clapped Sirius on the back, laughing brightly.  
  
But the Infirmary door opened again and Molly beckoned to Sirius, a look of urgency on her face. Sirius paled and followed her quickly. "What's the matter," he whispered as they approached the bed.  
  
"You'll see," she said cryptically, smiling now.  
  
Roxanne was sitting up, supporting herself on her hands, straining hard.  
  
"Just a little more, Roxanne! Push!" Madame Pomfrey commanded.  
  
"Twins!" said Molly shrilly.  
  
Roxanne collapsed back onto the pillows, gasping and crying. "I'm-too- tired!" she shrieked.  
  
"Sirius! Help her!" hissed Madame Pomfrey, snapping him out of a state of shock.  
  
He rushed to her head, slipped an arm behind her back and waited for the next contraction, whispering to her again. "You're nearly there, Roxanne. You can't give up now. Remus is watching. He's very proud of you."  
  
"But Sirius, I didn't know. I don't have another name," she cried.  
  
"We can worry about that later. You need to get him here first-or her."  
  
**********  
  
The second was smaller than the first. Madame Pomfrey laid him, squirming and wailing, on Roxanne's chest. She cooed to him in a high, quavering voice, stroking his still wet hair. Molly trotted to the door to give the news to those waiting outside and to bring little Remus back to his mother. Sirius helped wipe the new baby dry and wrap him, rather clumsily, in a warm blanket before Roxanne fed him-also rather clumsily. Molly came back with Remus and traded the babies so he could eat his first meal as well, then took the newcomer to meet the gentlemen waiting outside. Sirius waited, watching with awe as little Remus satisfied his hunger. Left alone now, he and Roxanne discussed the name problem quietly. There were so many good men he could be named after. She wanted to honor one of them, but which one? In the end, Roxanne settled on Lorenzo. It was, after all, Lorenzo Stewart who had started her down this road. She felt it particularly appropriate to remember him now as she embarked on a new one.  
  
Finally, Roxanne slept while the babies nestled together in a nearby cradle, Sirius leaning over them smiling and caressing their soft pink cheeks. And Harry dragged himself back to bed as the morning sunlight filtered in through the dormitory window.  
  
THE END 


End file.
